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GERMAN  PHILOSOPHICAL  CLASSICS 

FOR 

ENGLISH  READERS  AND  STUDENTS. 


EDITED  BY 


GEORGE  S.  MORRIS. 


FICHTE'S  SCIENCE  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 


OBIGGS  JS 

PHILOSOPHICAL   CLASSICS. 

Under  the  Editorial  Supervision  of  Prof.  (i.  S.  Morris. 

DEVOTED   TO   A   CRITICAL    EXPOSITION   OF   THE   MASTER- 
PIECES OF  GEUMAN  THOUGHT. 


KANT'S    CRITIQUE    OF    PURE    REASON.      By  George  S. 

Morris,  Ph.D.,  late  of  the  University  of  Michigan,  81.26 

SCHELLING'S  TRANSCENDENTAL  IDEALISM.  By  John 
Watson,  LL.D.,  Professor  of  Philosophy,  Queen's  Univer- 
sity, Kingston,  Canada,        .  81.26 

FICIITE'S  SCIENCE  OF  KNOWLEDGE.     By  C.  C.  Everett, 

D.D.,  Professor  of  Theology  in  Harvard  University,  81 .35 

HEGEL'S  ESTHETICS.    By  J.  S.  Kedney,  S.T.D.,  Professor 

in  the  Seabury  Divinity  School,  Faribault,  Minn.,        .       81.35 

KANT'S  ETHICS.    By  President  Noao  Porter,  D.D.,  LL.D.,    81.25 

HEGEL'S  PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  STATE  AND  OF  HIS- 
TORY. By  George  S.  Morris.  Ph.D.,  late  of  the  Univer- 
sity of  Michigan,         81.25 

LEIBNIZ'S  NEW  ESSAYS  CONCERNING  THE  HUMAN 
UNDERSTANDING.  By  Joiix  Dewey,  Ph.D.,  of  the  Uni- 
versity of  Michigan,    11.25 

HEGEL'S  LOGIC.  A  Book  on  the  Genesis  of  the  Categories 
of  the  Mind  By  William  T.  Harris.  LL.D.,  U.  S.  Commis- 
sioner of  Education.  .  .fl.5(> 


These  excellent  books,  as  remarkable  for  ability  as  for  clcarncsB, 
will  do  much  to  clear  the  way  and  make  the  mastery  of  the  (Jernian 
Systems  a  comparatively  easy  task. — New  York  Examiner. 

One  of  the  most  valuable  literary  enteriirises  of  the  day.  Eacli 
volume  is  a  condensed  presentation  made  by  an  author  who  com 
bines  thorough  philosophical  study  with  literary  talent,  and  who 
has  made  a  specialty  of  the  philosopher  whose  work  is  interpreted. 
—Boston  Traveler. 

This  Series  of  Philosophical  Classics,  edited  by  Prof.  George  S. 
Morris,  of  Michigan,  and  jjublished  in  the  enterprising  city  of  Chi- 
cago, deserves  to  he  much  better  known  than  it  has  hitherto  been 
to  students  of  German  Philosophy  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic. 
The  exposition  of  iln'  works  taken  in  hand  is  full  and  minute. — 
Mind,  London,  England. 


FIGHTERS 


SCIENCE  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 


A  CRITICAL  EXPOSITION. 


CHARLES  CARROLL  EVERETT,  D.D. 

BUSSEY   PROFESSOK  OF  TIIEOI-OOY   IN   HARVARD   UNIVERSITT,  AUTHOR 
or   "THE  SCIENCE  OF  THOUGHT." 


SECHIND   EDITION. 


CHICAGO: 
S.  C.  GRIGGS  AND   COMPANY. 

18  9  2. 


Copyright,  1884, 
Bt  S.  C.  GRIGGS  AXD  COMPANY. 


KTIIGHT    Sc  LECHARD  .  ( 


SRLf       , 


PREFACE. 


IN  the  prospectus  of  the  series  to  which  this 
volume  belongs,  the  following  statement  was 
made  : 

''Each  volume  will  be  devoted  to  the  critical 
exposition  of  some  one  masterpiece  belonging  to  the 
history  of  German  philosophy.  The  aim  in  each 
case  will  be  to  furnish  a  clear  and  attractive  state- 
ment of  the  special  substance  and  purport  of  the 
original  author's  argument,  to  interpret  and  eluci- 
date the  same  by  reference  to  the  historic  and 
acknowledged  results  of  philosophic  inquiry,  to  give 
an  independent  estimate  of  merits  and  deficiencies, 
and  especially  to  show,  as  occasion  may  require,  in 
what  way  German  thought  contains  the  natural 
complement,  or  the  much  needed  corrective,  of  Brit- 
ish speculation." 

In  accordance  with  this  plan,  the  present  volume 
will  be  chiefly  devoted  to  a  study  of  Fichte's  Prin- 
ciples of  the  Complete  Science  of  Knowledge.*  Ref- 
erence will  be  made  to  his  other  writings,  sut^cient, 
it  is  hoped,  to  show  the  relation  which  the  results 
reached  in  this  work  bear  to  his  system  as  a  whole. 

*  Gruiidlage  der  gesaminton  Wissenr<ch<iftslehre. 


PREFACE. 

It  would  be  too  much  to  say  that  no  system  of 
philosophy  can  be  understood  till  it  is  believed.  It  is 
at  least  true,  however,  that  no  system  can  be  under- 
stood until  belief  in  it  is  seen  to  be  possible.  I 
shall,  therefore,  identify  myself  as  closely  as  possible 
with  the  work  before  us,  making  the  freest  use  of 
the  material  furnished  by  Fichte,  and  seeking  to 
make  its  reasoning  seem  conclusive  where  that  is 
possible;  and  plausible  where  plausibility  is  all  that 
can  be  hoped.  Criticism  will  not  be  introduced  in 
the  course  of  the  discussion,  except  in  cases  where  a 
process  of  thought  may  be  better  understood  by 
its  aid.  A  brief  criticism  will,  however,  be  added 
at  the  close  of  tlie  work,  which  may  perhaps  suf- 
ficiently indicate  the  limitations  of  Fichte's  phil- 
osophy. 

C.  C.  EVERETT. 
Harvard  Univp:rsity, 
May,  1884. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE    MAN. 


Personal  clmracter  of  Ficlite.s  philosophy     .      .  1 

His  childhood  aiul  youth          '4 

His  relations  with  Kant G 

Early  writinLjs 9 

At  Jena 9 

At  Berlin V-\ 

The  war ....  14 

His  death     .      .             Iti 

Summary  of  his  lite 17 

CHAPTER  II. 

PROr.I.KMS    CONSIDERED    IN    RELATION    TO    KANT. 

Cieneral  relation  of  Fichte  to  Kant      .      .      .  IS 

I.    Tiie  Deduction  of  the  Categories         .      .      .  21 

Kant's    assumption    of   the    Categories    from 

without 21 

The  relation  of  this  assumption  to  his  system 

in  general 2:5 

The  inn)ortance  of  Fichte's  attempt  at  deduc- 
tion        23 


VlU  CONTEXTS. 

II.  The  Thing-in-itself 24 

Illogical   assumption    of    the    Thing-in-itself 

by  Kant 25 

Fichte's  interpretation  of  Kant     .      ...     21 
Suggestion  in  regard  to  the  source  of  Kant's 

assumption 30 

Possible  methods  according  to  which  Fichte 
may  dispose  of  the  Thing-in-itself  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  principles  of  Kant's  phi- 
losophy       31 

III.  Problems  Suggested  by  the  Practical  Rea- 
son         32 

Contradictory  nature  of  Kant's  treatment  of 

these  problems 33 

Fichte's  early  interest  in  them       .      .      .      ,  38 

IV.  Unity  in  General 39 

Lack  of  unity  in  Kant's  system      ....  39 
Kant's  recognition  of  the  fact  that  unity  had 

not  been  reached  by  him       .      .      .      .      .40 
Fichte's    point    of  departure    from    Kant   as 
stated  by  himself 41 

CHAPTER  III. 

THE    PROBLEMS    CONSIDERED    IN    THEMSELVES. 

Imi)ortance  of  such  consideration         .      .      .  43 

I.    Tlie  A  priori  Method  in  Philosophy   ...  44 

Objections  to  this  method  45 

These  objections  answered 46 


CONTENTS. 


II.    The  Ultimate  Reality       .      .      .      .      .      .50 

Fichte's  recognition  of  the  fundamental  ques- 
tion in  philosophy 50 

Phenomenal  character  of  the  objective  world  50 

This  recognized  by  the  popular  philosophy     .  53 
Difficulty  of  reaching  the  thought  of  anything 

beyond  phenomena 54 

And  of  proving  its  existence 55 

Mill's  attempt  at  proof  criticised          ...  55 
A  better  method  also  fails         .....  58 
Herbert  Spencer's  position  unsatisfactory       .  60 
Importance  of  the  attempt  to  reach  the  Ulti- 
mate Reality 61 


CHAPTER  IV 


TIIK    I    AND    THE    ME. 


al 


fo 


Fichte's  fundamental  proposition,  A=A 
Propositions  of  identity  in  gener 
Basis  of  the  proposition,  A^=A 
Explanation  of  terms 
Deduction  of  the  identity  of  the  I 

osition  above  given 
Definition  of  the  I       .      .      . 
Criticism  of  this  by  Herbart 
Reply  to  this  criticism 
The  unity  of  self-consciousness 
The  Category  of  Reality  . 


the  prop 


65 
67 
69 
71 

72 

76 

81 
83 
86 
88 


X  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   V. 

THE    NOT-ME    AND    ITS    RELATION    TO    THE    I. 

A  second  proposition  needed 90 

It  is  the  Proposition  of  Negation      ....  91 

The  contradiction  contained  in  it      ....  9:] 
The  solution  of  the  contradiction,  involving  a 

third  proposition 95 

Repetition  and  explanation  of  fundamental  prop- 
ositions      96 

The  Infinite  I 99 

CHAPTER   VI. 

THE    METHOD     OF     FICHTE    AS    SUGGESTED     BY    THE     PRIN- 
CIPLES   ALREADY    LAID    DOWN. 

Analytic  and  synthetic  propositions  ....    102 

Thetic  propositions .    105 

Fichte's  method 100 

CHAPTER   VII. 

THE    ANTINOMY    OF    THE    NOT-ME. 

The   proposition   whicli   forms  the  basis  of  the 

theoretical  part  of  the  system 108 

The  antinomy  contained   in   this        ....    109 
Translation  of  this  into  common  speech        .      .110 


CONTENTS.  XI 

Solnl  ion  of  this  sought  in  the  "  Sum  of  Reality  "111 

A  difticulty  still  remains lU) 

Attempt  at  solution  by  the  Category  of  Caus- 
ality, which  is  the  method  of  realism.      .      .    115 
Attempt  at  solution  by  the  Category  of  Sub- 
stantiality, which  is  the  method  of  idealism  .   117 

The  results  compared 121 

Neither  method  wholly  succeeds 12:} 

Attempt  at  solution  by  the  assumption  of  an 

Independent  Activity 124 

This  considered  under  the  Category  of  Causality  126 
And  und(M-  that  of  Substantiality      ....    127 
In  which   latter  case  it  is  found  to  be  the  Pro- 
ductive Imagination 129 

Summaiy  of  a  more  minute  discussion    .      .      .    I:i0 
By  which  the  Not-me  and  the  Me  are  seen  to 
stand  to  one  another  in  a  polar  relation,  so 
that  each  is  exclusive  of  the  other  and  yet 

dependent  upon  it 132 

Practical  solution  of  the  difficulty  involved  in 

this 133 

The  nature  of  substance  discussed     ....   135 

The  difficulty  remains 137 

Final  attempt  at  solution  by  the  assumption  of 

a  limit,  or  by  Quantitative  Realism     .      .      .    137 
Different  forms  of  idealism   and  realism  com- 
pared      ..." 140 

The  antinomy  still   remains  and  is  theoreticall}^ 
insoluble 144 


Xll  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   VITL 

THE    PRACTICAL    SOLUTION    OF    THE    ANTINOMY. 

The  psychological  nature  of  the  antinomy  .      .146 

Practical  solution  (Critical  Idealism)       .      .      .  150 

Comparison  with  Kant 153 

Source  of   sense  of  limit  in  two-fold   activity 

of  the  I 156 

The  two  activities  of  the  I  compared,  and  the 

source  of  the  Categorical  Imperative  thereby 

found 160 

General  result  and  comparison  with  Kant  .  ..  163 
Knowledge  of  the  objective  world  only  through 

the  infinite  activity  of  the  I 161) 

True  nature  of  the  activity  of  the  I       .      .      .177 

Comparison  with  Spinozism 178 

And  with  Stoicism 180 

The  infinite  striving  of  the  I;  its  nature  .  .  180 
And  the  possibility  of  its  interruption    .      .      .184 

General  summary 188 

Nature  of  the  system  of  Fichte 190 

CHAPTER   IX. 

THE     DEDUCTION     OF     PERCEPTION     AND     OTHER     MENTAL 
PROCESSES. 

Nature  and  method  of  the  undertaking.      .      .  193 

I.    Perception 195 

General  conditions  of  perception  ....  195 


CONTENTS.  Xlll 

The  primal  function  of   the   imagination  in 

perception 199 

The  understanding 200 

The  notion  of  matter 201 

And  that  of  externality 202 

Sensation 203 

Relation  of  activity  and  passivity  in  perception  204 

II.  Thought 205 

III.  The  Power  of  Judgment  and  its  Relation 

to  the  Understanding 207 

The  judgment 207 

Its  relation  to  the  understanding  ....  208 

IV.  The  Reason 210 

V.  The   Highest   Act  of  Abstraction,  and   the 

Final  Relation  of  the  Not-me  to  the  I  .      .211 
The  absoluteness  of  the  I 215 

CHAPTER   X. 

DEDUCTION'    OF    THE  WOKLD    OF    OBJECTS,   AND    ITS    RELA- 
TION   TO    THE    ACTIVITY    OF    THE    I. 

I.  The  Longing  for  Change 216 

The  striving.      .      .      * 216 

The  sense  of  longing  resulting  from  this        .   218 

II.  The  Objective  World 219 

III.  The  World  of  Objects 221 

Meaning  of  terms 221 

The   standard  in   the    perception   of    objects 

taken  from  the  perce[)tion  of  self    .      .      .   222 
Each  cuHsa  sui 222 


XIV  CONTENTS. 

Practically  the  I  is  limited 224 

Whence  comes  the  idea  of  matter ....  224 

The  object  must  also  be  limited     ....  226 

How  this  is  accomplished 226 

IV.  Space 227 

We  turn  to  the  consideration  of  outer  relations  227 

In  which  there  is  mutual  exclusion     .      .      .  228 
Which  supposes  a  common  sphere  to  which 

each  object  is  related 228 

This  cannot  be  a  thing 229 

And  can   have  no  other  attribute  than  this 

relation 229 

In  regard  to  it  the  I  has  freedom  of  position.  229 

It  is  Space 230 

Space  distinctions  dependent  on  objects    .      .  230 

And  thus  arbitrary  and  fluctuating    .      .      .  231 

V.  Time 231 

In  this,  fluctuation  is  impossible   ....  231 

The  past  is  wholly  ideal 232 

Yet  the  recognition  of  it  unavoidable       .      .  232 

VI.  The  Nature  of  the  Change  Desired       .      .  233 

The  fact  of  change  assumed 234 

How  it  is  recognized 234 

The   explanation   of   the   desire    for   change, 

showing    that    satisfaction    can    never    be 

reached 23.'i 

VII.  The  Longing  for  Harmony  and  Complete- 
ness       .238 

What  is  required  for  these 238 

VIII.  The  Absolute  Harmony;  the  Moral  Law 
and  its  Content 239 


CONTENTS.  XV 

The  antinomy  between  the  absolute  impulse 
(the  Categorical  Imperative)  and  the  im- 
pulse to  freedom 240 

Its  solution,  by  which  a  content  for  the  moral 
law  is  reached      ...  ....   241 

CHAPTER   XI. 

TUANSITION    TO    ONTOLOGY. 

Summary  of  results  reached 243 

Indications  of  an  ontology  involved  in  these      .  244 
Further  indications  in  the  Ethics  and  the  treat- 
ise on  Natural  Rights 246 

Will,  the  substance  of  the  I -  247 

Though  this  assumption  rests  on  the  Will  itself  248 

The  deduction  of  the  outer  world     ....  248 

Independence  found  to  be  self-etfacement     .      .  250 

The  Infinite  I 253 

Early  indications  of  the  Ontolog}^     ....  255 

The  Unity  of  the  Spirit 255 

God,  the  moral  ordering  of  the  universe      .      .  256 

Proofs  of  the  Divine  Being 257 

■  More  definite  statements  in  regard  to  God   .      .  258 

CHAPTER   XII. 

OXTOLOGY. 

Common  assumption  of  a  change  of  system  .  261 
Cleaning  of  term.  Being,  in  later  works  .  .  261 
Being  and  Existence 263 


XVI  CONTENTS. 

Schemata  of  existence 264 

Difficulties  in  earlier  works  solved  by  the  Ontology  266 

The  1 268 

Reason  of  the  certainty  of  the  truths  of  reason, 

and  of  the  absoluteness  of  the  moral  law        .  269 
Real  diiference  between  earlier  and  later  state- 
ments         269 

General  view  of  universe 270 

The  attractiveness  of  the  system  with  reference 

to  religion 273 

CHAPTER   XIII. 

COMPARISON     WITH      SCHOPENHAUER     AND     WITH      HEGEL, 
CRITICISM,    AND    CONCLUSION. 

Comparison  with  Schopenhauer 274 

Comparison  with  Hegel 278 

Criticism 281 

Importance  of  the  results  reached  by  Fichte      .  286 


FICHTE'S  SCIENCE  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 


CHAPTER  I. 
TFIE  MAN. 

BEFORE  entering  upon  the  study  of  the  philoso- 
phy of  Fiehte,  it  will  be  well  to  glance  for  a 
moment  at  his  character  and  life.  I  shall  not  at- 
tempt a  biography,  however  brief,  but  shall  merely 
call  attention  to  certain  facts  that  may  in  some 
degree  serve  our  immediate  purpose. 

The  philosophy  of  Fiehte  is  more  personal  than 
most  systems.  It  is  the  expression  of  the  life  and 
nature  of  its  author.  At  first  this  personal  element 
might  seem  to  detract  from  the  value  of  the  system 
considered  in  larger  relations.  It  is  obvious,  how- 
ever, that  this  will  depend  on  the  character  of  the 
personality  which  the  system  manifests.  So  far  as 
the  spirit  of  Fiehte  fulfils  the  ideal  of  human 
nature,  so  far  will  the  personal  element  in  his  phi- 
losophy give  to  it  a  greater  worth,  if  not  a  wider 
acceptance.  80  far  as  his  character  is  imperfect, 
so  far  will  the  personal  element  detract  from  the 
value  of  the  system.  In  both  these  respects  we  find 
his  philosophy  affected  by  the  characteristic  which 

we  are  considering, 

1 


2  FICHTE  S    SCIENCE    OF    KNOWLEDGE. 

Superficially  considered,  Ficlite  was  a  man  of 
imperious  temperament,  and  somewhat  mechanical 
in  his  methods.  These  two  qualities  gave  him  great 
power  as  an  educator,  while  at  the  same  time  they 
occasionally  introduced  what  may  be  called  the  school- 
master element  into  his  procedure,*  and  while  his  im- 
periousness  sometimes  complicated  relationships  that 
less  self-assertion  would  have  made  simple.  These 
characteristics,  it  must  be  repeated,  are  largel}-  su- 
perficial and  accidental  to  his  nature.  Deeper  than 
this  we  find  what  has  been  too  much  overlooked,  a 
real  spirit  of  reverence  and  of  docility.  If  Fichte 
so  often  claimed  a  mastery,  it  was  because  he  felt  his 
own  strength  and  the  weakness  of  those  about  him. 
When  in  the  presence  of  one  whom  he  could  really 
reverence,  he  was  as  simple  and  reverent  as  a  child. 

Beneath  these  more  external  traits  was  his  true 
nature.  This  was  made  up  of  an  energy  that  could 
hardly  be  surpassed,  of  a  power  of  love  tliat  was 
his  inspiration,  and  of  a  passion  for  truth  and  for 
righteousness  that  pressed  toward  absolute  satis- 
faction. 

In  all  these  respects,  his  system  was  the  image 
of  himself.  Harsh,  hard,  and  sometimes  mechani- 
cal without,  it  had  a  heart  of  fire  witliin.  What 
seemed,  looked  at  from  the  outside,  to  be  the  mere 
subtleties  of  logical  analysis,  were  really  the  stages 
])y  which  he  was  seeking  to  bring  into  the  conscious- 
ness of  his  followers,  the  absoluteness  of  the  moral 
law. 

*  Compare  Fischer:  Goschichtc  dcr  Ncucu  Philosophic,  1809, 
V-1,  224. 


THE   MAN.  3 

There  is  another  reason  why  a  notice  of  the  Hie 
of  Fichte  is  an  important  preparation  for  the  study 
of  his  [)hih)sophy.  The  interru[)tions  that  broke  up 
his  life  disturbed  also  the  orderly  development  of  his 
system.  The  fragmentary  manner  in  which  he  was 
thus  forced  to  give  his  system  to  the  world  has  been 
one  great  source  of  the  misunderstandings  in  regard 
to  it. 

Fichte's  childhood  was  in  many  respects  the  an- 
ticipation of  his  manhood.  The  occupation  of  pas- 
turing geese,  to  which  his  childhood  was  devoted, 
must  have  been  well  suited  to  the  reveries  of  which 
he  was  thus  early  fond.  He  would  stand,  we  are 
told,  for  hours,  looking  into  vacancy,  to  the  neglect, 
one  would  think,  of  his  feathered  charge;  but  in 
later  life  he  looked  back  to  these  hours  of  contem- 
plation with  grateful  pleasure. 

He  early  showed  the  instinct  and  the  passion  of 
the  orator.  The  only  manifestations  of  oratorical 
power  that  offered  themselves  to  his  life  were  the 
sermons  of  the  parish  church.  Tiiese  so  entered 
into  his  heart  that  he  could  reproduce  them  with  a 
force,  one  is  tempted  to  think,  sometimes  greater 
than  they  originally  possessed.  A  nobleman  in  the 
neighborhood,  regretting  that  he  was  one  Sunday 
too  late  for  the  sermon,  was  told  of  the  goose-boy 
who  could  repeat  it  for  him  in  such  a  way  as  would 
wholly  make  up  his  loss.  The  little  fellow,  being 
summoned,  went  into  it  with  a  will,  and  if  he  had 
not  been  interrupted  would  have  reproduced  the 
whole   discourse.     This  was    the    beerinnintr    of  his 


4  FICHTE'S   SCIENCE    OF    KNOWLEDGE. 

fortune;  for  the  gentleman  was  so  pleased  that  he 
undertook  the  burden  of  his  education.  He  died, 
indeed,  not  very  much  later,  but  the  start  had  been 
made. 

We  find  in  his  childhood  the  same  ethical  passion 
and  the  same  pedagogical  instinct  that  he  always 
showed,  whether  in  regard  to  himself  or  to  others. 
He  found  that  a  story-book  which  his  father  had 
given  him,  the  history  of  the  "Horned  Siegfried,"* 
was  absorbing  too  much  of  his  time;  he  therefore 
heroically  threw  it  into  a  stream,  and  with  an  almost 
broken  heart  saw  it  borne  away.  Later,  when  he 
was  a  young  man,  we  find  him  treating  himself  with 
the  same  discipline,  denying  himself  little  pleasures 
merely  for  the  sake  of  the  denial. 

One  incident  of  his  school  life  should  be  men- 
tioned, it  was  so  characteristic,  and  illustrates  so 
well  his  later  conduct.  At  the  school  there  was  a 
S3'stem  of  fagging.  Fichte  was  placed  under  an 
older  scholar,  who  played  the  tyrant.  He  deter- 
mined to  make  a  strike  for  independence.  He  sat- 
isfied his  sense  of  justice  by  announcing  to  his 
tormenter  what  he  should  do  if  such  treatment  were 
continued.  As  this  produced  no  effect,  he  started 
forth,  fired  by  a  sense  of  his  wrongs,  and  also 
by  romantic  hopes  suggested  by  the  story  of  Robin- 
son Crusoe,  which  he  had  been  reading.  He  seems 
to  have  felt  the  attraction,  which  is  so  natural  to 

♦The  popular  notion  of  the  "Horned  Siegfried"  grew  out  of  n 
misunderstanding  or  corruption  of  the  epitliet  "horny,"  wliicli  ex- 
pressed the  iuvuhieral)ility  of  the  hero. 


THE   MAN.  5 

boys,  for  the  sea;  while  tlie  experience  of  a  desert 
island  appeared  very  tempting  to  him.  As  he  was 
pursuing  his  way,  it  occurred  to  him,  however,  that 
he  had  been  instructed  to  enter  upon  no  important 
undertaking  without  prayer.  He  knelt  on  a  hillock 
by  the  wayside,  and  as  he  arose  from  his  knees  the 
thought  of  his  parents  came  to  him,  and  of  their 
grief  at  his  departure.  His  inmost  nature  of  love 
was  awakened.  He  turned  back  and  told  his  story; 
and  it  is  pleasant  to  be  able  to  add  that  he  was 
relieved  from  the  oppression  which  had  driven  him 
away. 

During  his  whole  youth,  he  was  crippled  for  lack 
of  means.  He  looked  forward  to  the  profession  of 
theology,  but  he  was  obliged  to  break  off  his  studies 
on  account  of  povert3^  The  consistory  of  Saxony 
refused  his  petition  for  the  aid  often  given  to  theo- 
logical students.  He  was  thus  thrown  wholly  upon 
himself. 

Much  in  the  youth  of  Fichte  reminds  us  of  that 
of  Carlyle.  Like  Carlyle,  he  had  an  intense  desire  to 
influence  men,  with  not  a  very  distinct  view  of  the 
end  toward  which  he  would  lead  tliem.  Like  Car- 
lyle, he  was  forced  by  poverty  to  accept  the  position 
of  tutor  in  one  famil}'  and  another,  and,  like  him,  he 
was  irked  by  the  relations  into  which  he  was 
brought  with  uncongenial  persons.  In  one  place, 
his  pedagogical  spirit  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  he 
undertook  to  drill  the  parents  as  well  as  the  chil- 
dren; reading  to  them,  every  Saturday,  a  list  of  the 
mistakes  they  had  committed  during  the  week,  in 


G  FICIITE  S    SniENCE    OF    KXOWLEDGE. 

the  managoment  of  their  cliildren.  At  another 
time,  after  he  had  taken  a  long  journey  on  foot  to 
meet  an  engagement  in  Warsaw,  he  found  that  he 
was  not  acceptable  to  the  lady  who  was  to  employ' 
him.  Among  other  things,  his  French  accent  was 
deplorable.  Fichte  admitted  the  justice  other  criti- 
cism, buj^  claimed  that  it  was  as  good  as  she  had  a 
right  to  expect;  and,  by  the  threat  of  legal  proceed- 
ings, made  her  pay  him  for  his  trouble  and  disap- 
pointment. This  was  a  very  important  event  in  his 
life,  as,  by  the  money  that  he  thus  received,  he  was 
able  to  take  a  vacation.  He  hurried  to  Konigsberg 
to  make  the  personal  acquaintance  of  Kant. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  docility  and  the  loyalty 
of  Fichte.  He  was  fortunate  in  having  objects 
that  called  forth  his  dee[)est  love  and  reverence. 
Leibnitz  first  aroused  his  boyish  enthusiasm;  the 
Friiulein  Kahn,  to  whom  he  became  engaged,  and 
whom  he  afterward  married,  received  from  him  an 
uninterrui>ted  devotion  that  influenced  very  largely 
his  life;  while  to  the  philosopher,  Kiint,  he  yielded 
the  whole  homage  of  his  youthful  heai't,  and  conse- 
crated to  him  and  his  service  his  best  powers.  He 
held  fast  to  this  loyalty  till  Kant  himself  at  last 
disowned  the  relationshii). 

I  have  couipared  Fichie  to  Carlyle.  Happier  than 
Carlyle,  the  craving  of  his  spirit  was  to  be  satisticd 
by  what  he  regarded  as  a  gospel  of  joy  and  peace. 
He  was  to  feel  the  power  of  this  gospel  in  his  own 
heart;  and  the  utterance  of  it  was  to  be  the  glad 
emplo\'ment  of  his  life. 


THE   MAN.  7 

It  is  strange  how  it  is  often  by  some  apparent 
chance  that  we  meet  the  great  crises  of  our  lives. 
Fichte  was  tutoring  in  such  studies  as  offered  them- 
selves, when  a  young  man  expressed  the  wish  to 
study  with  him  the  philosophy  of  Kant.  Fichte 
assented,  and  perhaps  did  not  think  it  worth  while 
to  inform  the  api)licant  that  it  would  be  first  neces- 
sary to  study  Kant  for  himself.  Thus  it  was  that 
he  met  his  dostin\'.  While  the  external  circum- 
stances that  led  to  his  acquaintance  with  Kant  seem 
so  accidental,  his  spiritual  develojiment  had  reached 
the  point  that  made  this  acquaintance  essential  to 
his  peace.  Indeed  there  can  be  no  greater  contrast 
than  that  between  the  way  in  which  his  spirit  was 
growing  into  the  need  of  Kant's  succor,  and  the  outer 
chance  that  brought  the  needed  relief. 

It  was  always  the  habit  of  Fichte  to  think  with 
his  pen.  We  have  a  fragment  that  was  written  in 
the  year  1790,  in  which  is  revealed  the  inner  crisis 
which  his  life  had  reached.  It  is  entitled  "Apho 
risnis  in  licgnrd  to  IJeligion  and  Deism."  *  In  it  he 
recognizes  the  great  chasm  that  exists  between  the 
elements  of  our  nature,  between  the  intellect  and  the 
heart.  The  intellect  can  see  nothing  but  a  necessity 
by  which  God  and  man  are  alike  bound.  Sin  is 
nothing  for  which  one  can  be  bl'amed.  It  is  nothing 
that  admits  of  forgiveness.  It  and  its  consequences 
spring  alike  inevitably  from  the  nature  of  the  in- 
dividual. The  heart,  on  the  other  hand,  can  not 
be  satisfied  by  su-ch  a  scheme.      What  is  to  be  done? 

*Fulitf>  I.ebun,  etc.,  von  I.  II.  Fichte,  II,  15  it  suq. 


8  fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

The  only  thing  to  be  done  is  to  draw  a  line  beyond 
which  speculation  shall  not  pass.  But  can  one  do 
this?  Can  one  do  it,  when  this  way  of  thinking  is 
natural  to  him,  when  it  is  ingi'ained  in  his  very 
being? — Here  the  fragment  breaks  off.  The  strug- 
gle between  the  head  and  the  heart  seems  to  admit 
of  no  issue.  The}^  could  not  be  at  peace;  yet  neither 
could  yield  to  the  other.  That  verj'  year  he  wrote 
to  his  friend  in  regard  to  the  philosophy  of  Kant, 
"This  has  given  me  a  peace  such  as  I  never  knew 
before."  He  had  found,  he  says,  "a  philosophy 
that  put  his  heart  into  harmony  with  his  head," 
and  he  bids  his  friend,  "  Henceforth  trust  only  your 
feeling,  even  if  you  cannot  confute  the  cavillers 
that  would  reason  it  down.  They  shall  be  confuted, 
and  indeed  they  are  confuted  ah-eadij,  only  they  do 
not  yet  understand  the  confutation." 

To  understand  this  sense  of  relief  we  must 
recognize  the  fact  that  Fichte  had  been  entangled  in 
a  system  of  Determinism  against  which  his  spirit 
chafed,  but  from  which  he  could  find  no  relief.  It 
was  Kant  who  rescued  him;  and  his  reverence  and 
his  gratitude  knew  no  bounds.  He  thanked  him  for 
everything,  for  peace  in  this  life  and  for  the  hojje 
of  another;  and  wrote  to  a  friend  that  he  should 
devote  the  next  years  of  his  life  to  making  the  sys- 
tem of  Kant  known. 

It  should  be  noticed  that  it  was  not  the  theoreti- 
cal part  of  Kant's  work  that  so  -moved  him.  At 
the  time  of  writing  the  fragment  just  referred  to, 
Fichte  was  familiar   with   Kant's  discussion  of   the 


THE   MAN.  9 

Antinomies.  It  was  the  Practical  Reason  that 
stirred  his  heart.  It  was  the  fact  that  a  place  had 
been  found  for  the  autonomy  of  the  spirit;  the  dis- 
covery that  the  rigid  necessity  which  had  imprisoned 
him  belonged  only  to  the  world  of  the  intellect. 
The  spirit  itself  had  created  this  world,  and  was 
free  from  its  tyranny. 

About  this  time,  in  part  to  win  the  apprecia- 
tion of  Kant,  Fichte  published  his  "Attempt  at  a 
Critique  of  all  Revelation."  This  work  was  conceived 
largely,  tliough  not  wholly,  in  the  Kantian  spirit, 
and,  through  the  accidental  omission  of  the  name  of 
its  author,  it  was  received  as  an  anonymous  work 
of  Kant.  This  mistake  was  the  occasion  of  un- 
bounded praise,  which  could  not  wholly  be  recalled 
when  it  was  discovered  that  it  was  the  production 
of  an  unknown  student  of  theology.  Shortly  after, 
he  published  two  treatises  suggested  by  the  French 
Revolution,  that  had  stirred  in  his  heart  the  largest 
hopes. 

Of  these  writings,  the  first-named  proved  his  good 
angel,  and  was  the  means  of  his  obtaining  a  profes- 
sorship at  Jena.  The  writings  on  the  French  Revo- 
lution proved  his  bad  angels.  They  gave  him  the 
reputation  of  being  revolutionary  and  democratic  in 
his  thoughts  and  wishes;  they  made  the  obtaining 
of  the  Jena  professorship  somewhat  difficult;  the}' 
made  him  an  object  of  suspicion  at  Jena;  and 
finally,  as  he  believed,  were  the  real  cause  of  his 
losing  that  position.  Had  Ficlite  been  a  man  of 
facile  manners  and  tact,  these  difficulties  would,  it 


10         pichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

is  probable,  have  soon  disappeared.  The  opposite, 
however,  was  true.  He  made  enemies,  and  some- 
times thwarted  the  well  meant  efforts  of  his  friends. 

Considering  everything,  Fichte  must  be  regarded 
as  the  ideal  professor.  Pew  students  have  been  so 
fortunate  as  those  that  were  brought  under  his 
influence.  His  philosophical  lectures  were  pro- 
found, original,  and  full  of  life.  Pew  lectures  can 
have  put  a  greater  strain  upon  the  minds  of  the 
listeners  than  these,  and  fe\y  lectures  so  abstruse 
could  have  brought  more  inspiration.  Tliere  was  a 
special  inspiration  to  the  students  in  the  thought 
that  a  new  s^'stem  of  philosoplu',  or,  as  many  of 
them  doubtless  believed,  the  final  philosophy,  was 
being  unrolled  for  the  first  time  before  their  eyes. 

Pichte,  however,  felt  that  with  this  scholastic  labor 
his  work  was  only  half  done.  He  had  always  the 
soul  and  the  heart  of  a  preacher.  He  yearned  over 
the  young  lives  that  were  about  liim.  and  could  not 
rest  without  trying  to  help  them.  He  undertook  to 
give  to  the  students  lectures  more  popular  and  more 
directly  stimulating  to  the  spiritual  nature  tlian 
those  which  he  gave  oflicially.  His  lectures  on  the 
"Vocation  of  the  Scholar"  were  thus  given.  They 
were  received  with  enthusiasm  b}^  the  students.  It 
illustrates,  however,  tlie  prejudice  that  existed 
against  him,  to  notice  tlie  difficulties  that  were 
placed  in  his  wa}'.  At  one  tim<;  the  objection  was 
that  these  lectures  were;  given  on  Sunday,  and  thus 
put    themselves   into    rivalry   with    the  Church;  al- 


THE   MAN.  11 

though,  in  fact,  the  hours  selected  were  tliose  which 
the  Church  had  left  unclaimed. 

He  saw  the  evils  of  the  secret  societies,  which 
played  a  great  part  in  the  life  of  the  student.  He 
atfected  the  students  so  strongly  tliat  they  made 
overtures  toward  the  dissolution  of  the  fraternities. 
Had  Fichte  been  the  self-asserting  man  that  he  is 
often  painted,  he  would  have  brought  this  matter  to 
a  hapiw  conclusion.  As  it  was,  he  put  the  affair 
into  the  hands  of  the  Faculty,  who  managed  it  with 
such  delays  and  such  awkwardness  that  Ficiite 
became  to  the  students  an  object  of  suspicion.  He 
was  temporarily  driven  from  the  place  by  the  fierce- 
ness of  their  misdirected  wrath. 

At  Jena,  the  iiublication  of  Fichte's  philosoidii- 
cal  system  proeeedt'd  regularly  and  systematically. 
First  came  the  "  I'l'inciples  of  the  Complete  Science 
of  Knowledge."  *  Then  came  the  system  of  "  Nat- 
ural Rights";  t  and,  later,  his  system  of  "Ethics."! 
Tn  these,  his  philosophy  was  gradually  unfolded  in 
its  deeper  significance.  His  philosophy  of  religion 
was  to  follow  in  its  time.  Had  this  development 
been  completed,  the  system  of  Fichte  would  not 
have  been  the  enigma  that  it  has  been. 

This  natural  and  healthy  development  of  his 
system  was,  however,  to  be  interrupted.  The  story 
of  this  interruption  cannot  here  be  given.  Tt  is 
enougii  to  say  that  in  a  journal  which  he  edited  he 
brought  forward  his  views  of  religion  in  their  most 

*  (Jniiulhiirc  (lor  (iesnmmtcii  Wissi'nschfiflslvliro. 

t  (.inmiUutri'  ties  Xaturrechts.      i.  Dns  Sv<tcm  dor  Sittenloliit'. 


12  FICHTE's   SCIEISrCE   OF   K^-OWLEDGE. 

negative  and  repellant  form.  Suspicion,  as  we  have 
seen,  was  already  turned  toward  him,  and  this 
publication  brought  all  the  hostile  elements  into 
activity.  Possibly,  however,  the  publication  would, 
without  the  previous  suspicion,  have  been  sufficient 
to  cause  the  excitement.  Formal  complaints  were 
lodged  against  Fichte.  Never  did  his  lack  of  tact 
and  his  directness  of  method  show  themselves  more 
strongly  than  in  his  defence  of  himself  against 
these  charges.  In  one  defence,  he  spoke  of  the 
hatred  which  similar  misrepresentations  had  pro- 
duced against  Voltaire.  Probably  this  placing  of 
himself  by  the  side  of  Voltaire  was  the  very 
worst  thing  that  he  could  have  done  for  his  own 
cause;  but  then  he  seems  to  have  been  thinking 
more  of  the  cause  of  truth  than  of  his  own.  On 
the  other  hand,  he  sent  a  letter  to  a  member  of  the 
council  that  was  to  determine  his  fate,  urging  that,  if 
the  matter  were  decided  against  him,  he  and  other 
professors  would  leave  the  University  of  Jena. 
This  letter  was  taken  as  if  it  had  been  officially 
addressed  to  the  council,  and  it  was  said  that  Fichte 
had  used  threats,  to  prevent  censure.  This  letter 
determined  the  case.  A  censure  was  passed;  it  was 
assumed  that  Fichte  had  resigned,  and  his  resigna- 
tion was  accepted.  And  though  he,  afterward, 
sought  to  explain,  and  withdraw  the  resignation, 
the  withdrawal  was  not  permitted. 

The  member  of  the  council  most  active  against 
Fichte  was  Goethe.  Our  chief  interest  in  the  mat- 
ter is  to  compare  these  master  spirits  as  they  stood 


THE    MAN.  13 

over  against  each  other.  Goethe  would  at  first  have 
saved  Fichte  by  passing  over  or  around  the  matter 
as  easily  as  possible.  He  approached  it  as  a  diplo- 
matist. Fichte  would  force  the  affair  to  its  sharpest 
possible  issue.  When  this  was  done,  Goethe  from 
being  a  diplomatist  became  the  narrow  official.  He 
granted  nothing  to  Fichte's  impetuous  temperament ; 
he  forced  into  a  letter  that  might  have  been  regarded 
as  private,  the  significance  of  an  official  document; 
and  left  Fichte  no  opportunity  for  reconsidering  or 
explaining  his  ill  considered  act.  Fichte  left  Jena, 
and  the  University  has  never  regained  the  position 
which  it  then  lost. 

The  importance  of  this  transaction,  to  our  present 
purpose,  is  the  fact  of  the  interruption  which  it 
brought  to  the  elaboration  by  Fichte  of  his  system. 
Henceforth  it  was  given  to  the  world  in  fragments 
instead  of  as  a  complete  whole. 

From  Jena,  Fichte  went  to  Berlin,  where,  later, 
he  filled  a  professorship.  In  his  "  Vocation  of  Man,"* 
published  in  1800,  he  gave  what  remains  the  best 
popular  exposition  of  his  system.  Somewhat  later, 
he  prepared  another  presentation!  of  it,  conceived 
in  a  more  profound  and  philosophical  spirit.  This 
presentation,  prepared  in  1801,  though  it  has  re- 
ceived comparatively  little  attention,  is  one  of  the 
most  important  of  Fichte's  publications.  It  occupies 
an  intermediate  position  between  his  earlier  and 
later  forms  of  treatment,  and,  more  than  any  other 

♦Die  Bestimmung  des  Menschen. 
tDart^telluuK  der  Wissensclmftslchre. 


14         fichte's  .science  of  knowledge. 

work,  supplies  lluit  Lonnnon  element  which  is  needed 
for  the  comprehension  of  both.  This  was  prepared 
for  publication.  Had  it  been  published  at  the  time, 
Fichte  would  have  been  far  better  understood  than 
he  is.  Circumstances,  however,  again  interfered, 
and  its  i)ublication  was  prevented.  The  next  work 
of  great  philosophical  importance,  which  Fichte  pub- 
lished,* was  his  lectures  on  "  'J'he  Way  to  the  Blessed 
Life,"  a  work  which  seemed  to  have  absolutely  noth- 
ing in  common  with  his  earlier  philosoph}',  and  was 
regarded  as  the  beginning  of  a  wholly  new  career  of 
philosophic  thought.  This  view  the  world  has  held 
to  a  great  extent,  in  the  face  of  the  fact  that  in  the 
preface  to  this  work  Fichte  afhrmed  that  his  philo- 
sophic standpoint  was  unchanged. 

Besides  these  more  philosophic  works,  in  1<S0.5  he 
gave  lectures  on  "  The  Nature  of  the  Scholar,'" f  which 
were  published  in  ISO*).  About  the  same  time,  he 
gave  lectures  on  "The  Characteristics  of  the  Present 
Age,"  t  which  were  also  published.  I  have  com- 
[)ared  Fichte  to  Carlyle.  Even  had  the  comparison 
not  been  made  before,  it  would  have  been  forced 
upon  us  now  in  naming  this  latter  work.  Never 
was  there  a  more  terrible  arraignnfent  of  a  super- 
ficial and  frivolous  age. 

Then  came  the  troublous  times  of  the  French 
war.  Fichte  offered  his  service  to  the  government. 
He  would  accompany  the  soldiers,  many  of  whom 
were  his  pupils,  and  inspire  them  by  his  presence 

*  Die  Aiiwcisniicr  /.iiin  Scli^en  Lcbcn.  +  Das  Wescii  des  Guli'lir- 
ten.  tDie  Gniiid/.iigu  dcs  Gegeinviiititrun  Zeitalters. 


THE   MAN.  15 

and  his  words.  This  service  was  declined.  15erlin 
beciiiiie  occupied  by  the  enemy.  Fichto  was  a  CJer- 
man  to  liis  heart's  core,  and  went  into  voluntary 
banishment,  that  he  might  not  bo  forced  to  give  in 
his  submission  to  the  invader.  He  returned  in 
1807,  and^hen  gave,  in  Herlin,  within  the  very  sound 
of"  the  tramp  of  tlie  hostile  soldiery,  those  magnili- 
cent  lectures  to  the  German  people,  which  have 
endeared  him  to  the  heart  of  every  German.  In 
them  he  recognizes  the  meaning  and  the  mission 
of  the  German  nationality.  Earlier,  he  had,  as  wo 
have  seen,  exposed  the  hollowness  of  the  civilization 
in  which  he  lived.  Now,  in  the  darkest  moment 
of  his  nation's  history,  he  found  signs  of  promise. 
He  uttered  to  his  peo[)le  words  of  hope  and  cheer, 
while  he  pointed  to  the  only  ground  upon  which  this 
hope  could  be  securely  based.* 

Here,  at  last,  Fichte  must  be  considered  fortunate. 
All  his  life  he  had  been  burning  to  influence  his 
fellow-men.  He  had  chosen  for  the  medium  of  his 
utterance  a  system  of  terminology  which  was  largely 
regarded  as  ridiculous,  as  well  as  meaningless;  and 
the  high  spirit  of  Fichte  was  stung  by  the  ridicule, 
and  was  lonely  in  its  isolation.  Now,  at  last,  the 
constraint  and  the  disguise  were  thrown  away.  He 
stood  a  man  among  men.  He  stood  a  leader  of  men. 
The  heart  of  the  nation  thrilled  at  his  words.  A 
century  after  his  birth,  although  his  i)hilosophy  was  a 
sealed  book  to  many  of  the  scholars  of  Germany,  the 
German  people  united  in  a  tribute  to  his  memory. 

*Reden  an  die  Deutsche  Nation. 


16         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

In  every  way,  Fichte  interested  himself  in  the 
national  cause.  His  wife  devoted  herself  to  the 
needs  of  the  sick  and  suffering  soldiers.  She  made 
herself  a  Sister  of  Charity,  and  nursed  them  in  the 
hospitals.  In  the  midst  of  her  labors,  and  on  ac- 
count of  them,  she  was  smitten  down  with  a  malig- 
nant fever  and  lay  at  the  point  of  death.  The  term 
of  the  University  was  to  open,  and  the  hour  for 
Fichte's  lectures  had  come.  He  left  his  wife,  doubt- 
ful if  he  should  see  her  again  in  life,  and  went  to 
the  lecture-room  whither  he  felt  that  his  duty  called 
him.  When  he  returned,  the  crisis  had  passed  and 
the  peril  was  gone.  Overjoyed,  with  a  kiss  he 
greeted  his  wife  back  to  life.  Doing  this,  he 
breathed  in  the  contagion,  and  was  prostrated  by 
the  fever,   from  which  he  did  not  recover. 

Nothing  in  the  life  of  Fichte  better  illustrates 
the  two  elements  of  his  nature  than  this  last  scene 
of  his  life.  To  us  it  seems  a  mechanical  sense 
of  duty  that  led  him  from  the  bedside  of  his  wife, 
whom  he  supposed  to  be  dying,  to  his  professor's 
chair.  If,  however,  we  are  tempted  to  think  him  a 
mere  bit  of  formality,  the  creature  of  mechanical 
routine,  we  remember  this  self-forgetting  kiss  of 
joy  and  love,  and  feel  that  his  spirit  was  one  of  the 
tenderest  as  well  as,  in  the  phrase  of  Goethe,  "the 
doughtiest  that  has  ever  lived."* 

I  append,  for  convenience  of  reference,  the  lead- 
ing dates  in  the  life  of  Fichte: 

*  Eg  war  eine  der  tiichtigsten  PersOnlichkeiten  die  man  je 
gestihen. 


TIIK    MAN.  17 

He  was  born  in  17(J2.  He  became  a  student  of 
Kant  in  1790.  He  entered  upon  his  professorshiii 
at  Jena  in  17'.>4,  and  left  it  in  1799.  He  died  at 
Berlin,  in  l8l:}.  The  period  of  his  life  in  Jena  is 
comuionly  reckoned  as  that  of  his  earlier  method  in 
philosophy.  When  his  whole  career  as  a  writer  is 
considered,  it  is,  however,  divided  into  three  periods, 
of  which  the  life  at  Jena  makes  the  second, 
2 


CHAPTER  11. 
PROBLEMS:  CONSIDERED  IN  RELATION  TO  KANT. 

THE  reader  of  Kant's  "  Critique  of  Pure  Reason," 
after  toiling  as  best  he  can  through  analyses 
and  abstractions,  is  pleasantly  surprised  by  a  picture 
which  Kant  suddenly  conjures  up  before  his  imagi- 
nation. It  is  that  of  an  island,  "  The  Land  of 
Truth"  (a  cliarming  name),  and  of  the  stormy  and 
misty  sea  by  which  it  is  surrounded, —  a  sea  that 
tempts  ever  to  fascinating,  if  fruitless,  adventures.* 
Not  only  had  Kant,  according  to  his  just  boast  in 
this  passage,  explored  and  mapped  out  this  island, 
but,  if  I  may  venture  to  carry  out  the  figure  a  little 
further,  upon  it  he  had  established  a  kingdom. 

Fichte  was  among  the  first  to  yield  enthusiastic 
allegiance  to  the  new  ruler.  He  devoted  to  Kant's 
service  the  full  power  of  his  maiden  lance.  He  even 
assumed  the  place  of  chief  lieutenant  to  his  leader, 
and  this,  at  first,  not  wholly  without  the  encourage- 
ment of  Kant  himself.  He  soon  found,  however, 
that  much  remained  to  be  accomplished,  and  that, 
if  he  would  maintain  the  authority  of  his  master, 
he  must  complete  his  work.  He  set  himself  to 
traverse  regions  that  remained  unexplored,  to  sub- 
due unconquered  or  rebellious  territories,  to  codify 

*Kanfs  Works,  Rosenkranz'  Edition,  II,  190. 

18 


problems:  in  uelation  to  kant.    19 

the  laws;  in  a  word,  to  introduce  order  into  the 
whole  empire.  Of  course,  he  could  not  do  this 
without  bringing  changes  into  the  laws  and  meth- 
ods of  the  realm.  These  seemed  to  him  so  essential 
that  he  adopted  them  without  hesitation,  and  in 
good  faith.  To  his  surprise,  however,  his  master 
failed  to  recognize  his  service.  He  even  found 
himself  declared  a  rebel  and  an  outlaw.  Then  first 
did  he  feel  himself  compelled,  in  order  to  accom- 
plish the  purposes  he  had  at  heart,  to  set  up  an 
empire  of  his  own. 

By  this  illustration,  I  have  attempted  to  present, 
in  as  vivid  a  manner  as  possible,  the  relation  of 
Fichte  to  Kant.  Fichte,  as  we  have  seen,  resolved 
to  devote  the  best  years  of  his  life  to  the  promulga- 
tion and  defence  of  the  critical  philosophy.  He, 
however,  could  teach  nothing  that  he  did  not  abso- 
lutely understand;  and  defend  notliing  that  be  could 
not  wholly  believe.  If  he  was  to  become  the  ex- 
pounder of  the  new  philosophy,  this  philosophy  must 
be  completely  wrought  over  in  his  own  mind,  so  that 
it  should  come  forth  as  his  own  philosophy.  It 
must  be  perfectly  transparent  and  perfectly  organ- 
ized. It  must  become  a  unit  according  to  his  idea 
of  unity.  In  accomplishing  this  result,  all  the 
imperfections  of  the  system  of  Kant  were  forced 
ui)on  his  attention.  Whether  or  not  he  may  be 
regarded  as  having  been  successful  in  his  attempt 
to  complete  the  philosophy  of  Kant,  at  least  it  is 
true  that  this  attempt,  though  made  in  a  positive 
rather  than  in  a  negative  sense,  remains  one  of  the 


20         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

best  criticisms  upon  the  work  of  Kant.  Qui  s  excuse 
saccHse;  in  like  nuinner  his  effort  to  fortify  the 
weak  places  in  Kant's  system  reveals  them.  These 
weak  places  Fichte  sometimes  covers  by  a  new 
interpretation  of  the  teaching  of  Kant,  which  he 
defends,  not  so  much  by  an  examination  of  the 
words  of  the  master,  as  by  insisting  that  any  other 
meaning  than  that  which  he  suggests  would  be 
absurd.  If  his  explanation  does  not  express  the 
real  thought  of  Kant,  it  may  well  be  understood 
that  this  is  a  kind  of  defence  which  no  author 
would  welcome.  Sometimes  he  reconstructs  parts 
of  the  system,  of  which  the  construction  had  seemed 
imperfect.  The  whole  arrangement  he  puts  upon 
a  new  basis.  Thus,  while  undertaking,  in  good 
faith,  to  defend  the  old  system,  he  was  really  found- 
ing a  new.  Kant  must  have  witnessed  with  some 
surprise  the  growth  of  this  new  philosophy  which 
claimed  to  be  his  own. 

One  great  difference  between  the  new  form  and 
the  old  sprang  from  the  fresh  life  that  was  put  into 
the  system.  Fichte  poured  into  it  his  whole  eager 
and  impetuous  soul.  The  work  which  Kant  had 
shaped  with  his  careful  chisel,  pausing  only  now 
and  then  to  admire  its  fair  proportions  and  the 
dignity  of  its  bearing,  has  suddenly  sprung  into 
life.  It  is  not  strange  that  in  this  living  and 
breathing  form,  in  these  features  aglow  with  the 
fire  of  a  lofty  enthusiasm,  Kant  failed  to  recognize 
the  work  of  his  own  hand.  How  far  the  work 
remained    the   same,    and    how    far    it    was    indeed 


PUOItLKMS:    JN    RELATION   TO    KAXT.  21 

transfonntMl  by  the  process  which  it  had  undergone, 
we  shall  discover  as  we  advance. 

We  have  now  to  inquire  what  were  some  of  the 
most  important  problems  which,  in  the  judgment  of 
Pichte,  Kant  had  left  unsolved,  and  to  which  he 
was  forced  to  seek  an  answer. 

I.  THE   DEDUCTION   OP  TIIK   CATEGORIES. 

One  of  the  most  important  things  which  remained 
for  Fichte  to  accomplish,  in  order  to  give  unity  to 
the  system,  was  the  deduction  of  the  Categories  from 
some  common  principle.  It  has  often,  from  the  first, 
been  urged  in  criticism  of  Kant,  that  he  accepted 
the  Categories,  and  used  them  without  establishing 
them  by  any  a  priori  reasoning,  and  thus  without 
making  them  an  organic  part  of  his  system.  As  is 
well  known,  he  accepted,  largely,  the  arrangement 
which  the  science  of  logic  had  made  of  the  various 
forms  of  judgiuent,  and  formed  a  system  of  Cate- 
gories corresponding  to  these.  Whether  the  system 
of  Categories  were  or  were  not  complete,  whether  the 
analysis  were  carried  as  far  as  analysis  is  possible; 
all  this  was  left  undetermined,  except  so  far  as  the 
accuracy  of  the  science  of  logic  could  be  trusted. 
Further,  the  question  whether  the  table  be  or  be  not 
complete,  is  not  the  most  important  one.  Accuracy 
of  result  is  not  sufficient  for  philosophj^  What  is 
demanded  is  transparency  of  process  and  result. 
The  process  must  be  seen  in  its  necessity,  and  the 
result  must  thus  carry  the  evidence  of  its  truth 
within     itself.       The    squaring    of    the    circle,    for 


22         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

instance,  by  means  of  tin  vessels,  square  and  round, 
the  liquid  contents  of  which  may  be  compared 
together,  carries  not  one  step  nearer  to  the  solution 
of  the  pi'oblem  of  the  mathematician.  The  table  of 
judgments,  which  Kant  made  the  basis  of  his  table 
of  Categories,  had  been  reached  by  a  purely  a  pos- 
teriori process.  Thus  a  crude  and  foreign  element 
was  introduced  into  the  very  heart  of  the  system  of 
Kant. 

I  am  not  sure  that  criticism  of  Kant  in  regard  to 
this  matter  is  wholly  just.  The  fact  is,  of  course, 
just  as  it  is  commonly  stated.  There  is  here  in 
Kant's  system  important  material  taken  bodily  from 
without,  and  used  as  if  it  had  been  scientifically 
deduced.  Whether  or  not,  in  accepting  this  material, 
Kant  did  not  adopt  the  means  best  adapted  to  the 
end  he  had  in  view,  is  another  question.  Kant  was 
not  so  much  the  builder  up  of  a  system,  as  one  who 
cleared  a  space  upon  which  a  system  could  be  reared. 
He  was  a  conqueror  rather  than  a  founder.  He  may 
be  regarded  as  the  Julius  Caesar,  as  Hegel  was  the 
Augustus,  of  modern  philosophy.  His  work  was 
thus  critical  rather  than  constructive.  It  was  to 
break  up  the  hard  and  crude  notions  that  men  had 
of  a  solid,  material  world,  wholly  independent  of 
spiritual  presence,  and  to  substitute  for  this  the 
thought  of  an  ideal  world,  which  is  for  and  of  the 
spirit  alone.  This  he  could  best  do  by  taking  for- 
mulas which  men  had  been  trained  to  regard  as  the 
most  fundamental  and  cprlain,  analyzing  the  notions 
which    these  involved,  and  thus  showing  that   they 


PROBLEMS:  IN  RELATION  TO  KANT.     ^23 

had  no  meaning  or  application  beyond  the  mind 
itself.  The  science  of  logic  furnished  these  for- 
mulas. By  accepting  them  and  analyzing  them  in 
the  manner  that  has  been  indicated,  Kant  was  car- 
rying the  war  into  the  enemy's  country,  and  win- 
ning a  victory  more  substantial  than  could  be 
obtained  in  any  other  way. 

Tlie  criticism  that  has  been  made  of  Kant's 
method  in  regard  to  this  particuhir  should  be  ex- 
tended, if  it  is  legitimate,  to  much  of  his  work.  His 
method,  tliroughout,  was  to  proceed  not  from  above, 
but  from  l)elow.  He  did  not,  for  instance,  like 
Schopenhauer,  attempt  to  deduce  the  forms  of  per- 
ception—  time  and  space.  He  accepted  these  as 
he  found  them  in  the  common  consciousness,  and 
soug])t  only  to  show  that  they  have  no  force  or 
meaning  beyond  the  mind  itself.  Passing  from 
these  to  the  Categories,  his  interest  was  to  show 
that  these  latter  are  meaningless  without  the  forms 
of  perception,  which  he  had  before  proved  to  be 
merely  phenomenal.  The  same  is  true  of  his  treat- 
ment of  all  the  spiritual  and  intellectual  functions. 
He  took  them  as  he  found  them. 

This,  then,  was  Kant's  method.  For  his  pur- 
poses, I  am  not  sure  that  it  was  not  the  best.  When 
the  battle  for  idealism  had  been  fought  and  won, 
then  came  the  time  for  the  deduction  and  organi- 
zation which  a  constructive  philosophy  demands. 

We  can  thus  understand  what  was  one  of  the 
most  important  and  fundamental  problems  which 
Ficlite  undertook  to  solve.     The  attempt  to  deduce 


24  FIGHTERS    SCIEXCE    OF    KNOWLEDGE. 

from  the  nature  of  consciousness,  the  forms  of  per- 
ception, the  mental  faculties,  and  the  Categories,  is 
what,  more  than  anything  else,  gives  its  character 
to  his  system, —  it  may  even  be  said  to  constitute 
his  sj'stem,  and  to  mark  the  philosophical  move- 
ment to  which  he  gave,  to  a  large  degree,  the 
impulse.  Hegel  is  enthusiastic  in  his  praise  of  the 
undertaking.*  He  speaks  of  the  deduction  as  some- 
thing that  had  not  occurred  to  any  man,  from 
Aristotle  down;  and,  again,  he  says  that  tliis  was 
the  first  reasonable  attempt  in  the  world  to  deduce 
the  Categories.  Doubtless,  in  this  attempt,  Hegel 
found  a  challenge  and  a  stimulus  to  his  own  great 
work.  If,  then,  the  success  of  Fichte  in  this  under- 
taking was  not  a  complete  success, —  and  certainly 
the  process  is  so  bound  up  with  his  own  system  as 
to  have  little  value  outside  of  it, —  yet  the  failure 
involved  a  triumph  more  fruitful  than  most  vic- 
tories. Fichte  had  pointed  out  the  way  wliich  phil- 
osopliy  must  take  for  its  next  advance.  If  it  was 
not  he  who  was  destined  to  create  the  empire  which 
Kant  had  founded,  he  was  at  least  one  of  those  who 
did  the  most  to  make  the  creation  possible. 

II.    THE  TIIIXG-IX-ITSELF. 

Another  point  in  regard  to  which  the  work  of 
Kant  needed  completion,  is  his  teaching  in  regard 
to  what  he  called  the  Thing-in-itself.  As  is  well 
known,  according  to  the  philosophy  of  Kant,  all 
objects  of  sensuous  perception  ai'o  mere  plienomena. 

*In  trentiiis,'  of  Ficliti-  in  liis  "  Ili-^tory  of  l'liiloso])hy." 


problems:    in    KKLATION   to    KANT.  25 

The  Categories  of  the  understanding,  being  bound 
up  with  the  forms  of  perception,  have  no  use  to  us 
apart  from  tliese.  Thus,  the  world  in  which  we  live, 
and  all  the  objects  and  relations  that  constitute  it, 
are  in  the  mind  alone.  With  this  phenomenal 
world,  which  is  in  and  for  the  mind  only,  Kant 
contrasted,  or  has  been  generally  understood  to 
contrast,  tlie  ihiii;/  which  is  behind  and  beyond  all 
phenomena,  and  which  manifests  its  I)oing,  though 
not  its  nature,  through  them.  This  Tiiing-in-itself 
is  rather  assumed  than  taught  by  Kant.  He  takes 
it  for  granted,  as  something  in  regard  to  which  there 
can  be  neither  doubt  nor  discussion.  This  Thing- 
in-itself  he  contrasts  not  merely  with  the  phenom- 
ena, but  also  with  w'lat,  in  any  real  and  positive 
sense,  may  be  called  Noumenon.  By  the  Nou- 
menon,  properly  so  called,  he  understands  that 
v/hich  may  be  an  object  for  the  understanding,  taken 
apart  from  any  relation  to  perception.  In  his  dis- 
cussion of  the  Noumenon,  he  means  chiefly  to  re- 
buke the  use  of  expressions  that  would  suggest  the 
thought  of  a  noumenal  or  intelligible  world.  This 
intelligible  world,  as  contrasted  with  the  sensible 
world,  he  insists  has  no  meaning  for  us,  and  the  use 
of  phrases  implying  such  a  distinction  is,  he  main- 
tains, wholly'  vicious  and  misleading.  In  a  negative 
sense,  indeed,  the  Tliing-in-itself  may  be  called  a 
Noumenon,  and  was  so  called  by  Kant,  but  in  a 
negative  sense  only.*  The  understanding  must  rec- 
ognize it,  but  must  admit  that  the  Categories  have 

*Kanfg  Works,  Rof-enkranz'  Edition,  II,  209  et  784. 


26         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

no  application  to  it.  We  have  in  the  Thing-in-itself 
only  the  limit  at  which  our  thought  must  stop. 
This  Thing-in-itself,  shut  out  from  the  realm  of 
phenomena,  and  not  fairly  admitted  into  that  of 
noumena,  may  well  be  said,  in  the  phrase  of  Hegel, 
to  hover  like  a  pale  ghost  outside  the  system  of 
Kant. 

When  we  look  at  the  matter  more  closely,  we 
see  that  the  whole  account  of  this  foreign  element 
is  illogical,  and  the  assumption  of  it  without  ground. 
This  has  been,  indeed,  one  of  the  earliest  and  most 
often  repeated,  as  it  is  one  of  the  most  obvious,  criti- 
cisms of  the  system  of  Kant.  If  the  Categories,  it 
is  said,  do  not  apply  to  it.  how  do  we  reach  any 
idea  of  its  existence?  If  it  does  not  stand  related 
to  the  world  of  phenomena,  either  as  substance  or 
cause,  what  is  the  relation  in  which  it  stands  to  it  ? 
The  very  word  Relation  expresses  a  Category.  Re- 
lation in  general,  as  well  as  any  particular  relation, 
is,  according  to  Kant,  for  and  of  the  mind  alone. 
The  Thing-in-itself  can  be  considered  to  stand,  then, 
in  absolutely  no  relation  to  the  phenomenon.  If  it 
stood  in  any  relation  to  it,  it  would  thereby  become 
embraced  in  our  system  of  Categories,  from  which 
it  has  been  absolutely  excluded.  What  leads  us 
then  to  assume  the  existence,  outside  the  mind,  of 
something  that  has  absolutely  no  relation  to  any- 
thing that  is  in  the  mind?  It  is  assumed  as  a  point 
of  unity  for  the  perception,  as  the  I  is  assumed 
as  the  princii)le  of  unity  in  thought.  I»ut  tlie 
term    Unit}'    itself  designates    one  of    these    omni- 


PUOHLKMS:    IN    IlKLATION    TO    KANT.  27 

present  Categories.  Kant,  tlion,  would  seem  to 
have  preserved  tliis  bit  of  natural  realism  in  his 
system,  and  to  have  uttered  it  with  a  tKtlrc  uncon- 
sciousness as  soniethinj,'  so  much  a  matter  of"  course 
as  to  require  neither  thou<fht  nor  justification. 

In  all  this,  however,  Ficlite  maintains  that  K;int 
has  been  wholly  misunderstood.  He  maintains  that 
by  the  Thinif-in-itself,  Kant  meant  nothing  crtni 
iiie>ite)ii;  that  he  meant  merely  the  unity  and  abso- 
lute objectivity  which  the  mind  gives  in  perception 
to  its  own  creations.  The  difficulty  of  using  any 
term  in  regard  to  this  matter,  that  may  be  abso- 
lutely free  from  any  ambiguity,  may  make  the 
interpretation  given  by  Fichte  seem  less  extrava- 
gant than  it  might  at  first  sight  appear.  The  terms 
Objects  and  Objective  are  often  used  under  the 
impression  that  they  express  something  wholly  for- 
eign to  the  mind.  The  terms  Subjective  and  Ob- 
jeclive  are  often  used  as  if  they  meant  the  same  as 
Inner  and  Outer.  But  the  Object  imjjlies  the  Sub- 
ject, and  thus  may  be  considered  as  wholly  1)ound 
up  with  it.  That  the  Object  need  not  be  considered 
as  foreign  to  the  Subject  maj^  be  seen  from  the  fact 
that  in  consciousness  the  self  is  objective  to  itself. 
Thus  the  term  Object,  however  strongly  emphasized, 
does  not  necessarily  —  strictly  speaking,  it  does  not 
possibly  —  take  us  beyond  the  limits  of  the  mind. 
Even  the  term  Thing  in-itself,  though  apparently 
invented  for  this  very  purpose,  does  not  take  us 
necessaril}'  beyond  the  mind;  for,  if  there  is  no  other 
world   than  the  mental   world,  then   the   Thing-in- 


28         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

itself  will  have  its  being  in  this.  If  our  ultimate 
fact  be  sensation,  the  Thing-in-itself  will  be  sensa- 
tion; if  it  be  thought,  the  Thing-in-itself  will  be 
thought;  if  it  be  spirit,  the  Thing-in-itself  will  be 
spirit.  No  form  of  speech  occurs  to  me  as  being 
wholly  unambiguous  in  this  connection,  except  that 
which  I  have  used  in  this  discussion.  The  words 
In  iHf>ite  and  Extra  Dioitcm,  or  their  equivalents, 
seem  free  from  any  possible  ambiguity.  Kant,  how- 
ever, did  not  use  these  words,  and  thus  there  is 
alwaA's  space  for  discussion  as  to  his  real  meaning. 

Fichte  defends  liis  view  of  Kant's  system  by 
appealing  to  this  ambiguity.  He  affirms  that  so 
long  as  Kant  does  not  expressly  say  that,  in  philoso- 
phy, sensation  must  be  explained  by  a  transcen- 
dental object,  which  is  external  to  us,  so  long  he 
will  not  believe  that  Kant  had  the  view  that  is  so 
often  ascribed  to  him.  He  adds  that  if  Kant  ever 
does  make  such  a  statement,  he  shall  consider  the 
"Critique  of  Pure  Reason  "  to  be  rather  a  work  of  the 
strangest  chance  than  of  a  mind.* 

The  fact  remained,  however,  that  the  "  Kantians  " 
not  only  understood  Kant  to  take  the  position  wliieh 
Fichte  regarded  as  so  absurd,  but  also  that  they 
frankly  accepted  it  at  his  hands.  They  held  Kant"s 
view  of  the  Categories,  of  their  inapplicaljility  be- 

♦Silmmtliclio  Wcrkp,  I,  480.  Tlie  toriii  Transccndontal,  which 
must  not  be  confounded  with  Transcendent,  is  liere  used  to  indi- 
cate the  contradictory  nature  of  the  view  descril)ed.  The  object  is 
transcendental,  l)ecause  it  is  assumed  as  a  necessity  of  thought ;  yet 
it  is  further  assumed  to  l)e  external.  It  cannot,  Ficlite  would  say,  be 
botli,  and  this  is  what  makes  the  view  ascril)ed  to  Kant  so  absurd. 


problems:  in  relation  to  KANT.     20 

yond  the  mind,  and  of  the  Thing- in-itselt  that  was 
held  to  be  beyond  their  reach  though  really  it  was 
simply  an  embodiment  of  them.  This  fact  was  urged 
against  Ficlite:  You  say  that  no  mind  can  hold 
a  position  so  self-contradictory;  but  here  you  have, 
before  you,  minds  that  really  do  hold  this  position; 
consequently,  you  have  no  right  to  interpret  Kant's 
writings  by  any  argument  based  upon  such  a  theo- 
retical impossibility.  To  this,  Fichte  replied  in  effect, 
that  we  must  distinguish  between  the  minds  that 
accept  a  system  at  second  hand,  and  the  mind  that 
originally  thought  it  out.  Many  an  inconsequence 
could  be  accepted  by  the  former  that  would  be  im- 
l)0ssible  to  the  latter.  The  man  who  had  first 
framed  a  system,  who  had  himself  explored  all  its 
relations,  who  had  logically  developed  it  from  its 
inception,  must  hold  it  as  a  unity.  He  must  be  able 
to  think  of  it  as  a  whole.  He  could  not  thus  fail  to 
be  sensible  to  any  self-contradiction  so  obvious  as 
that  under  consideration;  while  those  who  had  ac- 
cepted the  system  from  without  might  hold  it 
mechanically,  with  no  sense  of  this  living  unity,  and 
thus  might  naturally  be  less  sensitive  to  any  contra- 
diction existing  in  the  system  as  they  held  it.  H"  a 
boy  repeats  by  rote,  or  with  a  partial  comprehension, 
a  mathematical  demonstration,  we  are  not  surprised 
at  any  confusion  that  may  exist  among  the  figures. 
Such  a  confusion  existing,  undetected,  in  the  work  of 
the  master  who  originated  the  demonstration  would 
surprise  us. 

If,   however,   we   accept  the  commonly  received 


30         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

interpretation  of  Kant's  language  in  regard  to  the 
Thing-in-itself,  and  at  the  same  time  see  the  contra- 
diction which  tliis  interpretation  introduces  into  his 
work,  liow  can  we  meet  the  difficulty  that  is  urged 
by  Fichte?  How  can  we  suppose  it  possible  for  a 
master  who  has  wrought  out  the  idealistic  philoso- 
phy, as  we  find  it  embodied  in  Kant's  Critique,  to 
admit  into  his  view  of  things  such  a  wholly  foreign 
and  irreconcilable  element?  Would  it  seem  too  bold 
to  suggest  that  this  result  may  have  been  more  easy 
because  Kant  received  the  fundamental  position  of 
his  system  from  without?  It  was  Hume  who  reached 
the  conception  of  a  purely  idealistic  view  of  the  uni- 
verse. It  was  he  who  considered  the  processes  of  the 
mind  as  complete  in  themselves;  in  whose  system 
we  find  no  hint  of  any  influence  from  the  world 
outside  the  mind,  nor  any  hint  of  a  permanent  ego 
behind  the  mind.  This  was  with  him  an  original 
thought,  and  the  clearness  of  its  utterance  satisfies 
entirely  the  claim  that  Fichte  makes  for  such  origi- 
nality. But  Hume  by  the  use  of  the  word,  impres- 
sion, to  represent  the  more  vivid  [)erceptions  of 
the  mind,  prepared  a  dangerous  pitfall  for  those  who 
should  come  after  him.  He  posted,  it  is  true,  a 
warning  as  distinctly  and  conspicuously  as  seemed 
necessary,  b}'  stating  in  a  note  that  he  uses  the  term 
Impression  not  to  express  the  manner  in  which  our 
lively  perceptions  are  produced,  but  merely  llie  per- 
ceptions themselves.*  In  spite  of  this  warning,  many 
students  of  Hume,  who  might  have  been  supposed  to 

*  Ilunie's  Pliilosopliicul  Works,   I,  16. 


problems:  in  relation  to  KANT.     31 

keep  a  better  watch  over  their  step.s,  have  .stumbled 
and  fallen  into  the  pitt'all.  Can  it  be  that  Kant  him- 
self is  of  the  number?  With  such  questions,  and 
even  with  the  interpretation  of  Kant's  statements  in 
regard  to  the  Thing-in-itself,  we  have  here  nothing 
to  do.  Our  business  is  simply  to  emphasize  the  fact 
that  here  is  a  portion  of  Kant's  work  that  needs 
comi)letion. 

It  may  help  us  to  follow  with  a  clear  understand- 
ing the  reasoning  of  Fichte,  to  ask,  in  advance,  in 
what  ways  it  is  i)0ssible  to  conii)lete  the  thought  of 
the  'J'hing-in-itself,  while  remaining  wholly  within 
the  sphere  of  Kant's  system.  In  other  words,  we 
have  to  ask  what  methods  of  treatment  recognized 
by  Kant  may  be  applied  to  it,  or  into  what  classi- 
fications adopted  by  him  it  may  be  introduced.  It 
is  obvious  that  there  are  in  the  system  of  Kant 
two  methods  of  procedure,  either  of  which  may 
be  employed.  13y  this,  I  aflirm  simply  the  for- 
mal possibility  of  such  procedure;  whether  either 
method  would  be  found  practicable,  is  a  question 
that  is  not  here  raised.  Two  classes  of  beings  are 
recognized  by  Kant.  The  first  class  includes  phe- 
nomenal existences, —  those  which  exist  in  the  mind 
itself.  We  have,  here,  the  whole  objective  world  in 
the  strict  sense  of  this  term.  We  have  the  Objects 
of  perception  filled  out  and  bound  together  by  the 
Categories  of  the  understanding.  These  Objects  are 
given  directly  in  consciousness.  The  Thing-in-itself 
could  be  put  into  the  same  division  with  them.  It 
could   be  regarded  as  a  product  of  the  Categories, 


33         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

embodying  them,  and  placed,  by  the  mind,  behind  the 
objects  of  its  creation  to  give  them  unity,  solidity, 
and  permanence.  In  other  words,  instead  of  placing 
the  Thing-in-itself  outside  the  mind,  it  would  be 
inclosed  within  the  mind;  the  Categories  of  the  un- 
derstanding being  stretched  so  as  to  receive  it. 

Over  against  the  phenomenal  existences,  here  de- 
scribed, is  the  Absolute  Being,  or,  God.  Those  are 
the  product  of  the  intellectual  or  theoretical  powers; 
this  is  a  postulate  of  the  practical  reason.  It  is 
reached  only  by  an  act  of  faith.  Its  reality  is  postu- 
lated, not  proved.  We  cannot  say  that  it  is;  we  can 
only  say  that  it  mi;st  be.  It  would  be  at  least  for- 
mally possible  to  look  upon  the  Thing-in-itself,  from 
a  similar  point  of  view,  to  accept  it  as  real,  but  to 
regard  it  also  as  a  postulate,  as  something  held  by 
a  practical  necessity,  without  logical  grounds,  and 
without  comprehension. 

Either  of  these  methods  could  be  followed  with- 
out introducing  any  new  element  into  the  system  of 
Kant.  Any  fundamentally  different  method  would 
take  us  out  of  the  sphere  of  Kant's  philosophy. 
Whether  Fichte  adopted  either  of  these  methods, 
whether  he  did  not  incline  to  both,  as  he  looked  at 
the  matter  in  one  aspect  tr  another,  and  how  true 
he  remained  to  the  Kantian  tradition,  we  shall  see 
as  we  advance. 

HI.  PROBLEMS  SUGGESTED  BY  THE  PRACTICAL  REASON. 

A  third  very  important  problem,  or  group  of 
problems,  is  suggested  by  the  work  of  Kant.     His 


problems:  in  relation  to  KANT.     33 

system  culminates  in  the  thought  of  the  moral  hiw, 
of  freedom,  of  God,  and  of  immortality.  These 
are  recognized  as  standing  in  a  jirofound  and  in- 
timate relation  to  one  another.  Man's  freedom 
finds  its  scope  and  its  evidence  in  morality.  The 
moral  law  finds  its  scope  and  its  reality  in  human 
freedouj.  'J'lic  being  of  God  is  a  postulate  of  the 
moral  law,  which  would  be  idle  and  fruitless  with- 
out it.  The  idea  of  God  is  thus  practically  the 
product  of  the  moral  law,  and  includes  nothing 
that  is  not  suggested  by  it.  Immortality  is  also 
a  postulate  of  the  moral  law. 

The  statements  that  Kant  makes,  in  regard  to 
the  relation  of  God  and  immortality  to  the  moral 
law,  are  not  wholly  free  from  contradiction.  His 
first  account  of  the  matter  is  given  near  the  close 
of  the  "  Critique  of  Pure  iieason."  It  is  here  treated 
under  the  special  head,  "What  shall  I  hope?"  and 
under  the  more  general  head,  "  The  Ideal  of  the 
Highest  Good."  Two  elements  are  recognized  as 
constituting  the  highest  good.  One  of  these  ele- 
ments is  righteousness;  the  other  is  happiness.  In 
the  idea  of  the  highest  good,  these,  we  are  told, 
stand  to  one  another  in  a  definite  relation;  happi- 
ness is  exactly  proportioned  to  desert.  This  rela- 
tion between  obedience  to  duty  and  happiness  Kant 
maintains  to  be  fundamental.  Indeed  duty  would, 
he  affirms,  be  powerless,  if  we  had  no  reason  to 
believe  that  happiness  would  follow  from  its  accom- 
plishment. Duty,  indeed,  should  always  be  the 
prime  motive  of  our  acts;  but  this  motive  would 
3 


34         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

not  be  sufficient  of  itself  to  move  us.  If,  then, 
happiness  is  to  be  made  proportionate  to  desert, 
we  must  postulate  a  power  that  can  accomplish 
this;  and  a  sphere  in  which  it  can  be  accomplished. 
The  power  that  we  thus  postulate  is  God,  and  the 
sphere  is  the  immortal  life. 

In  this  whole  statement,  the  relation  is  made 
purely  personal.  We  have  the  individual  requiring 
to  be  assured  that  his  virtue  will  be  crowned  with 
happiness.  This  is  not,  indeed,  because  he  demands 
a  reward;  but  because  virtue  would  necessarily  be 
regarded  as  a  phantom  of  the  brain,  unless  there 
were  united  with  it  that  happiness  which  we  recog- 
nize as  its  necessary  result.  "  Therefore,  everyone 
regards  the  moral  laws  as  commands;  which  they 
could  not  be,  if  they  did  not  connect  with  their  re- 
quirements results  having  an  a  pylori  adajitation  to 
them,  and  thus  if  they  did  not  bring  with  them- 
selves promises  and  threats."  *  It  is  thus  obvious 
that  what  was  here  in  the  mind  of  Kant  was  some- 
thing of  the  nature  of  rewards  and  punishments. 
God  is  regarded  as  the  power  that  represents  the 
moral  law,  and  applies  its  sanctions.  These  sanc- 
tions must  not  be  supposed  to  be  arbitrarily  affixed 
to  the  law;  they  are  bound  up  with  the  very 
idea  of  it.  On  the  otlier  hand,  the  law  is  not  self- 
executing.  It  is  not  sufficient  even  to  secure  obedi- 
ence, unless  these  rewards  and  punishments  are 
associated  with  it.  Perhaps  we  might  say  that  the 
meaning  is,  that  the  law  could  not  secure  a.llegiance 

*  Kant's  Wcrke,  Ro.^enkranz"  Edition,  II,  235. 


rilOBLKM.S:    IN    UKLATION    TO    KANT,  35 

unless  it  could  show  that  it  is  actually  supreme  in 
the  universe.  Still  it  must  be  remembered  that, 
as  before  remarked,  the  question,  "  What  shall  I 
hope?"  is  luue  supreme;  and  the  rewards  and 
threatenin,i,'s  have  to  do  with  the  well  being  of 
the  individual  himself. 

Later,  he  treats  the  same  subject  more  fully  in 
his  "Critique  of  the  Practical  Reason."  *  The  general 
view  in  this  later  exposition  is  the  same  as  that 
in  the  earlier;  except  that  here  the  personal  ele- 
ment is  ke})t  much  more  in  the  background. 
Kant  evidently  feels  the  delicacy  of  the  i)osition 
more  keenly  than  he  did  before.  He  sees  that 
anything  like  threatenings  and  rewards  is  wholly 
out  of  place  in  his  system  of  morality,  which 
demands  the  right  for  the  sake  of  the  right  alone. 

In  the  later  treatment,  the  postulates  of  im- 
mortality and  the  being  of  God  are  separated,  each 
being  put  upon  an  independent  footing.  Immor- 
tality is  postulated,  not  that  obedience  to  the  moral 
law  shall  be  rewarded;  but  in  order  that  this  law 
itself  shall  have  free  scope;  not  for  the  sake  of 
happiness,  but  for  the  sake  of  virtue.  The  moral 
law,  Kant  tells  us  in  effect,  is  infinite.  At  no 
moment  can  the  perfect  holiness  which  it  requires 
be  attained.  Eternity,  therefore,  must  be  postulated 
if  the  moral  law  is  to  be  obeyed.  An  eternal  prog- 
ress is  the  only  form  under  which  obedience  to  it 
can  be  possible. 

It  might  appear  doubtful,  at  first  sight,  whether 

*  Kaut'8  Werke,  Rosenkranz'  Edition,  VIII,  261. 


36         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

we  have  here  a  contradiction  or  a  difference  of 
emphasis.  I  am  inclined  to  think,  however,  that, 
in  this  case,  a  difference  of  emphasis  is  a  contradic- 
tion. Each  view  is  given  in  its  place  as  the  ex- 
planation and  ground  of  the  postulate.  Either  of 
these  views  may  furnish  the  basis  for  belief  in 
immortality;  or  both  of  them,  taken  in  relation 
to  one  another,  may  do  this;  but  it  is  impossible 
that  each  of  them  should  independently,  and  at 
the  same  time,  furnish  this  basis. 

The  thought  of  the  necessary  apportionment  of 
happiness  to  desert,  which  in  the  earlier  treatment 
is  made  the  occasion  of  postulating  both  God  and 
immortality,  is,  in  the  later  statement,  made  to 
furnish  the  ground  for  postulating  the  existence 
of  God  alone.  But  even  here,  the  point  of  view 
is  essentially  changed.  Before,  the  thought  of 
personal  happiness  was  prominent,  if,  indeed,  the 
thought  of  the  happiness  of  others  entered  at  all 
into  the  discussion.  The  question  was  squarely 
asked:  If  I  so  conduct  as  to  be  not  unworthy  of 
happiness,  shall  I  obtain  happiness?  In  the  later 
treatment,  the  proi^ortioning  of  happiness  to  desert 
is  made  the  general  end  toward  which  a  moral 
being  must  work.  The  accomplishing  of  the  result 
is,  however,  far  beyond  the  powers  of  any  finite 
being.  We  must  postulate,  then,  the  existence  of 
an  infinite  Being,  by  whom  the  result  aimed  at 
shall  be  accomplished.  My  happiness,  should  I  de- 
serve happiness,  is  indeed  bound  up  with  the  general 
happiness.     It  is  an  item  in  the  mass.      It  is  not, 


PROBLEMS:  IN  RELATION  TO  KANT.     37 

however,  this  fact  that  determines  my  activity.  I 
am  working  for  a  general  result,  to  which  this  is 
only  incidental. 

It  will  be  noticed  that  we  have,  in  this  second 
statement,  two  complemental  postulates,  one  of 
which  insists  upon  what  is  needed  by  the  individual 
in  order  that  obedience  to  the  law  shall  be  possible 
to  him,  while  the  other  refers  to  the  difhculty  of  ac- 
complishment that  is  inherent  in  the  law  itself.  I 
must  have  scope  for  that  infinite  progress  by  which 
alone  my  obedience  is  possible;  and  there  must  also 
be  a  power  that  shall  make  possible  the  result  which 
the  law  demands.  The  personal  element  which  in 
the  earlier  statement  was  supreme,  is  in  this  later 
statement  hardly  appreciable. 

This  change  in  the  position  of  Kant  is  interesting 
as  illustrating  the  fact  that  Kant  was  seeking  rea- 
sons to  justify  his  postulates  rather  than  basing  his 
postulates  on  principles  that  were  seen  to  demand 
them.  The  statement  that  the  hope  of  individual 
happiness  is  essential  to  virtue,  is  thrown  aside,  but 
the  result  that  had  been  based  on  this,  remains,  and 
another  foundation  is  sought  for  it.  The  most  gen- 
eral statement  of  the  principle,  it  is  true,  remains; 
namely,  that  we  are  saved  by  hope.  In  the  one  case, 
however,  the  hope  is  personal;  in  the  other,  it  is  im- 
personal. This  shows  simply  that  Kant  was,  from 
the  first,  confident  that  the  relation  between  moral- 
ity and  religion  is  a  necessary  one. 

All  this  has  been  dwelt  upon  to  illustrate  the 
fact  that  Kant  in  all  this  matter  left  problems  to  be 


38         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

solved.  The  relation  to  one  another  of  all  the  ele- 
ments that  enter  into  the  discussion,  as  it  is  left  by 
him,  is  arbitrary  and  superficial.  The  relation  of 
God  to  the  moral  law  is  wholly  external.  God  is 
assumed  merely  as  the  arbiter  of  destin3\  The  rela- 
tion of  the  moral  law  to  human  nature,  and  thus  to 
liuman  freedom,  is  unexplained.  Further,  it  is  as- 
sumed, as  a  matter  too  obvious  to  require  discussion, 
that  it  is  impossible  for  any  finite  being  to  attain 
to  perfect  holiness.  No  ground  is  given  for  this  as- 
sumption. Finally,  the  relation  of  holiness  to  happi- 
ness is  left  entirely  obscure.  The  two  stand  over 
against  one  another,  as  elements  wholly  foreign,  to 
be  united  only  by  some  external  power. 

All  the  problems  here  suggested  are  made  the 
objects  of  careful  study  by  Fichte,  and  a  clear  per- 
ception of  them  will  be  found  to  be  a  great  help  in 
the  comprehension  of  the  deeper  thought  of  his  sys- 
tem. From  the  very  first,  he  evidently  felt  that 
much  was  to  be  done  in  the  way  of  filling  out  the 
system  of  Kant  at  the  points  here  indicated.  In  his 
earliest  contribution  to  the  Kantian  philosophy,  the 
work  that  was  written  while  he  was  the  most  closely 
under  the  personal  influence  of  Kant  and  which  was 
published  in  a  certain  sense  under  Kant's  patronage, 
he  attacks  some  of  these  problems.  He  attempts  to 
fill  out,  by  the  delicate  tracery  in  which  he  was 
skilled,  some  of  the  gaps  left  by  the  massive  masonry 
of  Kant.  He  here  attempts  to  show  some  relation 
between  morality  and  hap[)iness.  He  shows  a  \)yo- 
found  view  of  this   relationship  even  by  a  change 


problems:  IN'  RELATION  TO  KANT,     31) 

in  the  term  employed.  He  speaks  of  blessedness 
ratlier  than  of  happiness.  Thus,  at  the  very  be- 
ginning of  his  philosophic  career,  he  is  already  busied 
by  considering  the  "  Way  to  the  lilessed  Life."  He 
also  endeavors  to  represent  the  various  relations  in 
which  God  may  be  supposed  to  stand  to  the  moral 
law.  All  of  this  treatment  is,  when  compared  with 
Fichte's  later  work,  entirely  superficial.  It  illus- 
trates, however,  the  fundamental  nature  of  his  inter- 
est in  philosophy,  by  showing  the  nature  of  the 
problems  that  first  forced  themselves  upon  him. 
Even  while  he  was  busied  with  more  superficial 
matters,  while  he  was  working  out  the  first  presen- 
tation of  his  system,  the  short  statement  in  regard 
to  the  Worth  of  Man  shows  that  these  more  i)rofound 
problems  were  those  toward  which  his  speculation 
was  really  pressing,  and  it  is  these  that  furnish  the 
substance  of  his  later  thought. 

IV.     UNITY  IN  GENEKAL. 

We  have  seen  that  Kant,  in  each  of  the  spheres 
of  thought,  leaves  certain  elements  not  incorporated 
into  the  unity  of  a  system.  The  Thing-in-itself 
stands  outside,  with  no  apparent  relation  to  any  part 
of  his  philosophy.  The  Categories  and  all  forms  of 
intellectual  activity  are  accepted  without  being  made 
to  appear  to  have  any  organic  relation  to  one 
another.  The  elements  that  enter  into  the  higher 
moral  life  stand  also  disconnected.  Each  of  these 
spheres  thus  lacks  unity.  Still  more  glaring  does 
this  lack  of  unity  become,  when  we  attem}>t  to  com- 


40         fichte''s  science  of  knowledge. 

bine  these  various  spheres  into  any  absolute  relation. 
The  moral  world  and  the  intellectual  world  stand 
over  against  one  another  as  though  they  belong  to 
different  universes. 

The  fact  as  last  stated  was  obvious  to  Kant  him- 
self. In  his  introduction  to  the  "Critique  of  the  Fac- 
ulty of  Judgment,"  Kant  recognizes  these  distinct 
realms.  One  is  theoretical;  the  other  is  practical. 
One  has  for  its  governing  principle  the  Understand- 
ing; the  other,  the  Reason.  He  recognizes  the  fact 
that  here  is  opened  an  unbounded,  but  also  an  inac- 
cessible field  for  knowledge.  The  two  realms  stand 
over  against  each  other  as  if  they  were  so  many  dif- 
ferent worlds.  The  one  is  the  world  of  the  sensuous, 
or  tlie  natural;  the  other  is  the  world  of  the  su})er- 
sensuous  or  the  supernatural.  Of  tliese,  the  first 
can  have  no  infiuence  upon  the  second;  the  second, 
however,  should  have  an  infiuence  upon  the  first. 
The  idea  of  moral  freedom  should  make  the  end 
toward  which  the  practical  reason  points,  actual  in 
the  world  of  the  senses.  In  this  case,  it  must  be  pos- 
sible to  regard  natui'e  in  such  a  way  that  its  laws 
are  fitted  to  co()perate  with  those  of  moral  freedom, 
and  to  work  for  the  same  end.  There  must,  there- 
fore, be  a  principle  of  unity  by  wliicli  the  natural 
and  supernatural  are  made  one.  The  supersensuous 
principle  which  underlies  nature,  and  the  supersen- 
suous principle  which  underlies  the  realm  of  free- 
dom must  have  some  common  gi'ound.  This  common 
ground  cannot  be  reached  either  b}'  the  understand- 


problems:  in  relation  to  KANT.     41 

ing  or  the  reason,  but  it  must  make  possible  a  pas- 
sage from  the  one  realm  of  thought  to  the  other. 

Fichte  refers  to  this  passage  as  the  most  signifi- 
cant part  of  this  very  significant  book.*  In  examining 
it  and  the  principles  to  which  it  refers,  he  insists  that 
in  Kant's  system  there  are  three  absolutes.  The  first 
of  these  is  the  sensuous  experience,  which  includes 
the  whole  sensuous  world, so  far  as  this  is  recognized 
by  Kant.  This  is  the  realm  of  the  understanding. 
The  second  absolute  is  the  moral  world,  the  world  of 
the  reason.  The  third  is  the  principle  which  Kant 
recognizes  as  the  common  ground  of  both.  Though  it 
is  the  common  ground,  yet  it  cannot  be  seen  as  such; 
we  cannot  bring  into  a  single  thought  the  two  abso- 
lutes first  named  as  springing  from  it.  If  I  am  to 
recognize  it  at  all,  I  must  recognize  it  as  a  third 
absolute. 

Fichte  states  expressly  that  the  statement  of 
Kant  which  we  are  here  considering  was  the  histori- 
cal point  from  which  his  own  independent  specula- 
tion started.  This  statement  by  Fichte  is  a  very 
important  contribution  to  our  knowledge  of  the  de- 
velopment of  his  S3'steni.  We  might  have  assumed 
the  fact  to  be  as  he  asserts  it;  but  it  is  none  the  less 
interesting  to  find  him  consciously  recognizing  this 
definite  relation  to  the  system  of  Kant,  pointing  us 
to  the  very  sentence  that  roused  his  intellectual  ac- 
tivity to  its  real  work.  Tliis  statement  of  Fichte 
furnishes,  as  we  shall  see,  the  ke}'  to  his  system.  It 
literally  describes  the  i)roblein  which  he  set  himself 

*Nachgelassene  Wcike,  II,  103. 


42         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

to  solve.  This  problem  is  the  reduction  of  the  theo- 
retic reason  and  the  practical  reason  to  a  common 
principle.  This  result  involves  all  the  others  that 
have  been  named.  It  involves,  on  the  one  side,  the 
unity  of  the  theoretical  processes,  and  thus  the 
deduction  of  the  Categories  and  the  rest;  and,  on  the 
other,  the  recognition  of  the  nature  of  the  object  of 
sensuous  perception,  the  Thing-in-itself.  It  involves 
the  introduction  of  a  similar  unity  into  the  world  of 
the  practical  reason,  and  finally  it  involves  what  is 
indeed,  as  we  have  seen,  the  gist  of  the  problem,  the 
reduction  of  the  world  of  the  Understanding  and 
that  of  the  Reason  to  a  common  principle. 


CHAPTER  rri. 

THE    PROBLEMS    CONSIDERED  IN  THEMSELVES. 

WE  have  thus  examined  the  principal  problems 
with  which  the  philosophy  of  Fichte  has  to 
do,  so  far  as  they  are  sugi^ested  b}'  the  system  of 
Kant.  Of  these  problems,  the  first  —  that  of  the 
deduction  of  the  Categories  —  may  be  regarded  as 
affecting  the  form  of  the  system;  though  it  must 
be  remembered  that  in  philosophy  the  form  is  also 
in  part  identical  with  the  material.  The  others 
concern  the  material  of  the  system  and,  indeed,  the 
most  fundamental  and  important  elements  of  the 
material. 

However  interesting  it  may  be  to  trace  the 
growth  of  one  system  out  of  another,  to  see  how  the 
later  is  involved  in  the  earlier,  and  how  the  thought 
of  humanity  develops  as  if  it  were  the  thought  of 
an  individual,  such  considerations  affect  chiefly 
the  student  of  the  history  of  philosophy.  The  in- 
terest is  largely  technical.  A  more  important 
question,  then,  than  that  of  the  relation  of  Fichte 
to  Kant  is  that  of  the  significance  of  the  problems 
considered  in  themselves.  Indeed,  the  study  of  the 
history  of  philosophy  fails  of  its  true  end  when  it  is 
pursued  merely  as  a  matter  of  historical  or  curious 
interest.     One    might    as   well   watch   the    changing 

43 


44         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

forms  in  the  kaleidoscope,  or  the  shifting  shadows 
of  interlacing  branches,  as  to  study  the  changing 
forms  of  human  thought,  considered  simply  as 
changing  forms.  For  one  who  feels  no  need  of 
an  answer  to  the  questions  with  which  a  system 
of  philosophy  deals,  that  system  has  no  signifi- 
cance. We  have  now,  therefore,  to  ask  what  is 
the  permanent  human  interest  which  is  involved 
in  the  problems  which  Pichte  undertakes  to  solve. 
We  shall  here  consider  these  under  their  most 
general  form,  thereby  reducing  them  to  two, 
namely:  The  place  of  the  a  priori  method  in 
philosophy,  and  the  nature  of  the  Ultimate  Realit}-. 
My  intention  is  not  at  all  to  discuss  these  prob- 
lems, but  merely  to  mak«  it  appear  as  clearly  as 
possible  that  we  have  in  them  problems  that  de- 
serve to  be  discussed. 

I.   the  a  priori  method  in  philosophy. 

The  deduction  of  the  Categories  is  a  part  of  the 
general  scheme  of  philosophy  which  Fiehte  held, 
and  which  he  impressed  upon  the  minds  of  his 
immediate  successors.  His  idea  was  tliat  a  pliil- 
osophy  should  be  a  system  deduced  from  a  single 
principle.  It  should  thus  possess  an  organic  unity, 
and  this  unity  should  be  the  result  of  a  priori 
reasoning.  This  constructive  method  is  that  which 
properly  receives  the  name  Speculative.  Now  this 
whole  form  of  procedure  is  totally  at  variance 
with  the  methods  most  prized  at  present.  The 
reliance    of   the    present    thought    of   the    world    is 


THE    PROHLEMS    IN    THEMSELVES.  45 

placed  almost  wholly  upon  induction.  'I'he  systems 
that  have  been  constructed  according  to  the  de- 
ductive method  seem  to  many,  at  the  present  day, 
no  more  substantial  than  air  castles. 

Various  grave  objections  are  urged  against  the 
speculative  method  of  thought.  It  is  urged  that 
we  cannot  reach,  thereby,  concrete  realities.  These 
must  in  every  case  be  given.  When  the  philosopher 
seems  to  have  reached  by  his  deduction  anything 
of  a  nature  at  all  concrete,  let  it  be  even  the 
Faculties  of  the  Mind  or  the  Categories  of  Thought, 
these  are  in  fact  accepted  by  him  as  given.  They 
are  really  the  products  of  experience.  Further,  it 
is  urged  that  no  real  unity  is  attained  by  this 
process,  but  only  the  semblance  of  unity.  We  have 
a  generalization  and  classification;  but  we  have  just 
as  many  units  as  before.  Still  further,  it  is  urged 
that  the  process  of  deduction  is  arbitrary.  Not 
only  are  the  so-called  results  given  in  advance,  by 
experience,  but  the  philosopher  so  frames  and  guides 
his  reasoning  as  to  reach  these  points  already  given; 
and  thus,  it  is  urged  finally,  the  whole  process  is 
idle  and  delusive. 

We  must  admit  the  charges  thus  urged  to  be 
in  some  respects  well  grounded.  At  the  same 
time  we  must  insist  that  the  speculative  method 
in  philosophy  has  great  claims  to  a  respectful 
consideration.  We  here  leave  out  of  the  account 
all  discussion  of  the  results  actually  reached  by 
this  method.  Fichte's  attempt  we  have  yet  to 
study,  and  that  of  no  other  concerns  us.     We  have 


46         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

to  look  upon  this  method  largely  as  if  it  were  yet 
untried;  or,  at  least,  to  consider  its  accomplishments 
only  in  the  most  general  and  abstract  way. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  speculative  philosophy 
can  never,  by  itself,  reach  concrete  results;  yet 
it  accomplishes  very  much,  if  it  have  a  place  for 
these,  if  it  show  that  the  concrete  fact  represents 
some  general  principle  or  some  moment  in  a  process 
that  by  itself  considered  is  purely  formal.  If  it  can- 
not construct  in  advance  the  content  of  experience, 
it  is  much  if  it  can  explain  empirical  results,  when 
they  are  given.  To  take  a  very  crude  and  inade- 
quate example,  the  philosophy  of  history  could  not 
construct,  in  advance,  the  personalities,  say,  of  Huss 
or  Luther;  it  does  much,  if  it  can  explain  the  relation 
of  things  which  made  a  movement  like  that  repre- 
sented by  Huss  or  Luther  inevitable.  A  better  ex- 
ample may  be  found  in  the  applied  mathematics. 
Take,  for  instance,  the  science  of  optics.  As  ^Iill 
insists,  no  reasoning  can  explain  why  any  special 
form  of  undulation  should  produce  upon  us  the  defi- 
nite sensation  which  in  fact  we  find  to  correspond  to 
it.  This  may  illustrate  the  impotence  of  mathe- 
matics in  general  to  account  for  the  precise  empiri- 
cal result  of  any  process.  Yet  none  the  less  does  the 
science  of  mathematics  do  a  work  of  incalculable 
importance  Ijy  giving  a  sclieme,  all  the  parts  of 
which  stand  in  a  definite  and  necessary  relation  to 
all  the  rest;  a  scheme  in  which  all  these  empirical 
elements  have  their  place. 

Fichte  assigns  precisely  this  work  to  speculative 


THE    PROBLEMS    IN    TIIKMSKLVES.  47 

philosophy.  He  recognizes  two  classes  of  objects 
which  cannot  bo  deduced;  namely,  the  irrational  and 
the  concrete.  He  says:  How  the  accidental,  the 
chance,  or  lawless,  comes  to  pass  cannot  be  told. 
Foolish  people  demand  that  we  shall  deduce,  for 
them,  their  pens  and  the  foolishness  which  they 
write.  There  is,  however,  no  reason  even  for  their 
own  existence.  Just  as  little  can  be  deduced  even 
that  which  stands  under  a  law,  that  which  is,  in  the 
strictest  sense  of  tlie  word,  real.  'Phis  is  found  only 
in  empirical  knowledge;  and  the  science  of  knowl- 
edge, or  philosophy,  can  only  indicate  its  place  —  the 
vacancy  which  it  fills,  but  by  no  means  the  content 
of  this.* 

While  the  work  of  speculative  philosophy  is  thus 
somewhat  similar  to  that  of  applied  mathematics,  it 
is,  so  far  as  it  can  bo  accomplished,  more  important 
than  this.  This  greater  importance  arises  from  two 
of  its  characteristics.  In  the  first  place,  philosophy 
is  more  inclusive  than  mathematics,  having,  in  fact, 
to  do  with  all  that  is.  In  the  second  place,  for  this 
very  reason  its  results  are  more  complete,  and  thus 
more  transparent,  than  those  of  mathematics.  This 
latter  has  to  do  with  sensible  elements  which  admit 
of  no  solution.  The  moments  of  a  speculative  [)hil- 
osophy  are  more  closely  allied  with  the  processes  of 
thought,  and  are  more  easily  perceived  to  be 
mei-ely  the  nodes  in  a  movement  of  spontaneous  de- 
velopment. 

The  arbitrariness  wliich   is  found   in  philosophy 

*  Nachgelassene  Werke,  II,  318. 


48         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

has  also  its  counterpart  in  mathematics.  This,  also, 
out  of  many  possible  lines  of  movement,  chooses  that 
which  will  lead  to  a  given  point.  In  philosophy, 
often,  a  given  course  of  reasoning  can  be  with  diffi- 
culty understood  till  we  have  looked  forward  and 
seen  the  point  to  which  it  is  aiming.  When  we 
have  seen  this,  then  we  can  understand  the  turns  of 
thought  which  are  leading  toward  it.  Ikit  the  same 
is  true  in  regard  to  the  most  solid  scientific  processes. 
''Tell  me,"  said  Faraday  to  Tyndall,  who  was  about 
to  show  him  an  experiment,  "  Tell  me  what  I  am  to 
look  for." 

It  must  be  admitted  that  there  are  difficulties  in 
the  way  of  a  speculative  philosophy  that  no  matlie- 
matical  process  has  to  meet.  There  are  difficulties 
in  finding  the  proper  starting  point.  There  are  dif- 
ficulties arising  from  the  largeness  and  apparent 
vagueness  of  the  elements  and  relations  employed. 
There  is  possible  an  arbitrariness  of  treatment.  The 
results  reached  bear  witness  to  the  narrowness  or 
the  prepossessions  of  the  philosopher  himself.  Fichte 
deduces  the  position  which  woman  holds  in  the 
family,  according  to  the  German  notion,  as  confi- 
dently as  he  deduces  any  more  fundamental  and 
universal  relation.*  A  Frenchman  or  an  xVmerican 
might  have  reached,  with  the  same  confidence,  quite 
different  results.  The  difficulty  of  an  undertaking 
does  not,  however,  prove  its  impossibility.  Least  of 
all  does  it  prove  its  worthlessness.  If  the  science  of 
mathematics  has  contributed  anything  to  our  knowl- 

♦  RcclitBk'liri;:    Siimiiitlicho  Werke,  111,325. 


THK    I'KOBLKMS    IN    THKMSKLVK.S.  49 

edge  of  the  plioiioiiieiiii  (o  wliicli  it  can  be  a))i)lie<l, 
so  that  the  scientist  does  not  (eel  tliat  he  undei- 
stands  thtMii  till  he  has  subjected  them  to  niathe- 
niaticai  torniiilas;  still  more  must  si)eculative  phil- 
osophy, su[)[)osing  it  to  be  in  any  degree  attainable, 
contribute  to  our  thought  of  the  larger  realities 
with  wliicli  it  has  to  do. 

What  has  been  said  suggests  the  kind  of  unity 
which  i>hilosoi)hy  may  reach.  It  may  at  least  reach 
the  unity  of  the  Idea,  'i'liought,  like  s[)irit,  involves 
in  its  very  nature  the  coi'-xistence,  even  the  identifi- 
cation, of  two  elements  that  under  all  other  forms 
are  mutually  exclusive;  namely,  Unity  and  Diversity. 
S(j  far  as  the  real  may  be  regarded  as  the  ideal,  so 
far  may  it  be  regarded  under  the  form  of  unity;  and, 
since  it  is  the  nature  of  the  mind  to  think,  it  cannot 
rest  till  it  represents  to  itself  all  things  under  the 
foi-m  of  thought;  that  is,  till  the  real  has  become 
the  ideal. 

I  repeat  that  we  are  not  here  concerned  to  prove 
that  a  philosophy  such  as  has  been  indicated  is  possi- 
ble, or  to  show  how  far  it  is  possible.  All  that  is 
here  insisted  on  is  that  only  so  far  as  it  is  pos- 
sible can  we  have  any  satisfactory  thought  of  our 
own  spirits  or  of  the  universe  in  which  we  live. 
This  consideration  may  make  us,  at  least,  regard  the 
attempt  to  reach  such  a  [)hilosopliy  as  an  important 
one.  It  may  prepare  us  to  follow  with  interest  the 
attempt  which  Fichte  makes  to  formulate  such  a  sys- 
tem. We  must  remember,  however,  that  no  failures 
can  prove  that  the  undertaking  itself  attempts  the 
4 


50         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

impossible.  We  must  remember  that  each  attempt, 
although  in  part  a  failure,  may  be,  at  the  same  time, 
in  part  successful;  and,  at  least,  that  every  such 
attempt,  though  it  may  itself  not  fully  succeed,  may 
do  something  to  make  possible  the  final  accomplish- 
ment. 

II.    THE  ULTIMATE  REALITY. 

The  real  question  that  philosophy  has  to  answer 
is  this:  What  really  Is?  Pichte  recognized  this  as 
the  problem  with  whicli  philosophy  has  to  deal.* 
This  question  seems  to  common  thought  a  very  easy 
one.  What  is?  We  are,  the  world  is,  and  all  the 
persons  and  objects  near  and  remote  that  make  up 
the  physical  universe  —  these  are.  Perhaps  there 
may  be  added  to  the  list,  with  more  or  less  confi- 
dence, spiritual  beings.  God  may  be  recognized  as 
being.  Many  would,  however,  make  this  last  and 
grandest  thought  dependent  upon  those  which  were 
named  l)efore.  To  most  the  external  universe  is  the 
most  certain  of  realities. 

A  slight  observation  does  something  to  disturb 
the  completeness  of  the  notion  of  the  outward  uni- 
verse. Perhaps  to  few  is  it  wholly  rounded  and 
complete.  Among  the  first  elements  to  be  trans- 
ferred from  the  outer  to  the  inner  world  are  heat 
and  cold.    We  learn  that  a  body  which  we  call  hot 

*  In  my  jiulgnicnt,  the  question  which  philosophy  has  to  answer 
is  the  following:  What  relation  is  there  between  onr  notions  and 
their  objects?  How  far  can  it  be  said  that  anvtliing  outside  of  us 
*    *    *    answers  to  them ''  — Saniintliche  Wcrke,  II,  43."j  and  410. 


THE    PROBLEMS    IN    THEMSELVES.  51 

simply  heats.  What  we  call  heat  is  simply  our  sen- 
sation. Perhaps  the  next  element  to  be  surrendered 
is  sound.  I  think  that  nothing  contributes  more 
to  the  first  disturbance  of  our  confidence  in  the 
reality  of  the  world  about  us,  than  the  first  noticing 
that  one  hears  the  sound  of  the  distant  woodsman's 
axe,  while  the  axe  is  rising.  This  disassociation  of 
elements  that  seemed  inseparable,  affects  us  some- 
thing as  does  an  occasional  tremor  in  the  scenery  of 
the  stage.  The  illusion  is  for  the  moment  broken. 
A  closer  analysis  brings  to  view  the  fact  that  light 
and  color  are  sensations  of  our  own,  and  thus  can,  as 
such,  have  no  external  existence.  An  illustration 
has  been  suggested  that  makes  all  this  very  clear. 
Suppose  an  indestructible  rod  in  a  dark  room  to  be 
made  to  vibrate,  at  first  slowly,  but  with  ever 
increasing  rapidity.  At  first  we  should  feel,  if  we 
were  near  enough,  some  disturbance  of  the  air. 
Then  we  should  hear  a  sound,  first  low  and  then 
continually  higher.  Then  we  should  have  a  sense 
of  warmth,  if  we  were  near  enough;  then  of  heat. 
Finally,  we  should  see  successive  colors  of  the  spec- 
trum. These  phenomena  would  not  manifest  them- 
selves continuously;  there  would  be  intervals  in  which 
no  one  of  them  would  be  produced.  This  illustrates 
very  well  the  fact  that  all  the  sensations  which  have 
been  referred  to,  and  which  seem  qualitatively  dis- 
tinct, are  merely  marks  by  which  we  check  off  differ- 
ence in  quantity.  In  other  words,  the  changes  in 
the  rapidity  of  vibrations  or  undulations  outside  of 
us  excite   these  varied    forms  of  sensation    within. 


52  ficiite's  science  of  knowledge. 

We  thus  rest  in  the  thought  of  the  undulations  as 
something  final.  But  what  are  these  undulations? 
Is  not  our  idea  of  them  made  up  of  what  we 
have  seen  or  felt?  These  undulations  are  made  up 
of  sensations  of  our  own,  which  we  have  combined 
and  projected  into  the  external  world.  The  older 
school  of  English  and  Scotch  philosoi)hy  made  a  dis- 
tinction between  the  primary  and  secondary  qual- 
ities of  objects.  The  former,  such  as  extension  and 
solidity,  were  said  to  belong  to  the  objects;  the 
latter,  like  color,  are  the  effects  produced  within  our 
own  sensations.  Sir  William  Hamilton  insists  upon 
this  distinction.  He  maintains  that  we  must  apply 
to  consciousness  the  principle  of  evidence:  ludsus  in 
uno,  falsus  in  oiiuiihiis;*  and  that  if  the  testimony 
of  consciousness  is  broken  in  regard  to  these  primary 
qualities  of  matter,  its  testimony  is  good  for  nothing. 
He  forgets  that  the  testimony  of  consciousness,  or 
what  he  calls  such,  is  already  proved  false  by  the 
recognition  of  the  fact  of  the  subjectivity  of  color 
and  sound.  Even  the  primary  qualities  of  matter 
have,  however,  no  meaning  to  us  apart  from  sensa- 
tion. 

It  would  here  be  out  of  place  to  detail  the  meth- 
ods by  which  the  notion  or  the  form  of  space  is 
produced  within  us.  There,  is,  however,  no  resting 
place  between  the  position  of  Kant  on  the  one  side, 
that  space  is  simply  a  subjective  form  of  perception, 
originally  belonging  to  the  mind  itself,  and  the 
results    of    our    physiological    psychologists    on    the 

*  Discusbions  (London),  86. 


TlIK  PROBLEMS  IN  THEMSELVES.       53 

other,  who  make  it  out  to  bo  the  result  of  continued 
sensations  to  which  we  lend  the  form  of  externality. 
In  either  case  it  is  of  the  mind  alone. 

Indeed,  theoretically,  the  present  age  can  make 
little  objection  to  the  results  above  stated.  Physi- 
ology has  proved  the  phenomenal  charact(!r  of  the 
elements  that  make  u})  the  world  of  objects,  in  the 
midst  of  which  we  seem  to  live.  It  does  not  always 
remember  that,  thereby,  it  has  taken  the  solid  basis 
from  beneath  its  own  feet.  It  attemi)ts  to  con- 
struct mental  out  of  [)liysical  processes,  feeling  that 
thereby  it  has  sufficiently  explained  them.  It  does 
not  always  keep  in  mind  tliat  the  ph3'sical  facts 
upon  which  it  bases  its  reasoning,  are  themselves 
a  part  of  the  phenomenal  world;  that  is,  that  they 
are  products  of  the  mind  itself.  Herbert  Spencer 
shows  how  absolutely  nothing  we  know  of  the  real 
things  about  us,  by  pointing  out  that  they  are  at 
one  end  of  the  nerves,  while  onr  sensations  are 
produced  at  the  other.*  The  argument  loses  noth- 
ing in  force,  although  its  own  basis  is  swept  away 
by  it;  for  the  nerves  themselve:?  belong  to  that 
phenomenal  world  of  which  they  prove  our  igno- 
rance. Herbert  Spencer  properly  denies  that  he 
is  a  materialist.  The  reality  which  he  recognizes 
is  something  which  lies  back  of  the  distinction  of 
matter  and  mind,  and  manifests  itself  in  both.  He 
insists  that  the  relations  of  which  he  speaks  may 
be  expressed  equally  well  in  terms  of  mind  or  in 
those  of  matter,  according  to  the  point  from  which 

*  Spencer's  Psychology,  I,  207. 


54         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

we  start.*  He  seems  to  foi'get  for  the  moment  that 
we  have  only  terms  that  are  derived  from  mental 
processes,  and  that  we  always  start  from  the  mind, 
which,  indeed,  we  can  never  get  beyond. 

If,  however,  we  grant  that  the  world  of  visible 
and  tangible  objects  is  one  of  appearances,  must 
we  not  recognize  the  fact  that  there  is  a  world  of 
I'eality  beyond  this,  which  manifests  its  existence 
by  means  of  these  appearances?  Must  we  not  insist, 
with  Kant,  upon  the  Thing-in-itself,  ai)art  from  the 
phenomenon?  Does  not  this  reveal  itself  by  the 
opposition  which  meets  us  at  every  point?  I  press 
my  hand  against  a  wall,  and  I  feel  the  opposing  pres- 
sure. Even  though  the  wall,  as  1  picture  it  to 
myself,  may  be  a  creation  of  my  internal  senses, 
is  not.  the  resistance  at  least  real?  But,  replies 
Fichte,  in  effect.  What  is  your  hand,  and  how  do 
you  know  that  you  have  a  hand?  The  hand  and 
the  wall  belong  alike  to  the  world  of  appearances.! 

What  do  you  mean,  he  urges  further,  by  tliis 
reality  behind  the  appearance?  Do  you  not  mean 
something  that  could  be  discerned  by  other  senses 
if  we  had  them,  or  by  other  intelligences  if  there 
are  such?  Thus,  is  not  the  something  behind  the 
appearance  merely  the  possibility  of  another  world 
of  possible  sensations?  or,  putting  the  matter  in 
another  light,  is  not  what  we  mean,  solidity?  The 
appearance  seems  to  us  superficial,  it  has  to  do 
with  surfaces;  but  behind  these  there  is  the  solid 

*  Spencer's  First  Principles,  503. 

tBestiinmung  des  Menscheii,  Siiinmtliche  Werke,  11,207-211. 


Till':    PROBLEMS    IN    TIIKMSELVKS.  00 

reality.  What  do  we  mean  by  this,  he  asks,  in 
effect,  but  that  we  should,  could  we  examine,  find 
ever  new  surfaces,  the  process  of  infinite  divisibility 
beinjf  only  the  possibility  of  an  infinitude  of  sur- 
faces? Thus,  from  whatever  point  we  start,  we  find 
it  impossible  to  <^et  beyond  the  world  of  mental 
feelings  and  processes.  It  is  im|)ossiI)lo,  because  we 
cannot  get  out  of  ourselves.  We  can  use  no  terms 
but  mental  terms;  thus  it  is  impossible  to  state 
precisely  what  we  mean  by  the  something  real  out- 
side the  mind. 

It  is  ecjually  impossible  to  prove  the  existence 
of  such  a  reality,  let  us  speak  of  it  by  what  abstract 
or  inadequate;  terms  we  may.  John  Stuart  Mill, 
indeed,  maintained  tiiat  the  existence  of  one  kind 
of  being  outside  ourselves  can  be  proved;  namely, 
that  of  conscious  personalities  like  our  own.*  It 
is  true  that  the  evidence  of  an  extra  nieHteni 
subject-object  can  be  conceived  more  easilv  than 
that  of  a  mere  object.  We  can  use  words  in 
regard  to  it  that  have  a  positive  irieaning.  It  is, 
however,  as  impossible  to  prove  the  existence  of  the 
one  as  that  of  the  other.  The  argument  of  Mill  is 
substantially  as  follows:  In  our  consciousness  we 
find  certain  grou[)S  of  sensations,  each  of  which 
remains  substantially  the  same,  subject  onh*  to  slight 
variations.  One  of  these  groups  we  learn  to  regard 
as  representing  ourself.  We  call  it  our  body.  This 
is  subjected  to  some  change,  and  responds  to  this  by 

*  Examination  of  Sir  William  Hamilton's  Philosophy,  I,  Chapter 
XII. 


5G         ficiite's  scikkoe  of  knowledge. 

other  changes.  In  our  own  case,  between  the  ante- 
cedent and  the  consequent  is  a  mean  term ;  namely, 
consciousness.  It  is  indeed  a  series  of  terms;  namely, 
feeling,  thought,  will.  Other  groups  closely  resem- 
ble this.  We  notice  like  antecedents  and  like  conse- 
quents.    We  assume  that  the  mean  term  also  exists. 

In  this  discussion,  his  purpose  is  negative  rather 
thcin  positive  —  to  maintain  that  the  knowledge  of 
such  existences  is  not  intuitive,  rather  than  that  it 
can  be  supported  ]>}'  absolute  proof;  yet  he  appears 
to  assume  that  we  have  here  a  case  of  real  and  con- 
vincing induction.  This  reasoning  he  compares  to 
that  by  which  Newton  proved  that  the  force  which 
keeps  the  planets  in  their  place  is  identical  with  that 
by  which  an  apple  falls  to  the  ground. 

When  we  examine  the  argument,  however,  we 
find  that  it  is  evidently  not  at  all  a  case  of  induc- 
tion, but  one  of  analogy.  We  reason  from  what 
accompanies  the  changes  in  one  set  of  phenomenn. 
to  that  which  must  accompany  iJie  resembling 
changes  in  innumerable  other  gi-oups  of  plienomena. 
It  is  precisely  as  when  we  reason  fi'om  the  fact  that 
this  world  is  inhal)ited.  to  the  l)elief  that  other 
worlds  are  inhal>ited. 

It  differs  in  another  resjtect  fi-om  the  reason- 
ing of  Newton  above  i-eferred  to.  In  that,  the 
force  jn'oved  to  exist  was  cnmplctely  defiu(Ml  in  the 
terms  of  its  effect.  A  relation  was  shown  to  ])re- 
vail  wherever  solid  bodies  exist..  One  miglit  have 
begun  with  the  motion  of  the  moon,  and  reasoned  to 
that  of  the  apide.  as  well   as   the   reverse,      fn   the 


TlIK    IMtOHLEMS   IN   THEMSELVKS.  5'i' 

case  before  us,  these  conditions  do  not  exist.  In 
this,  an  element  is  found  to  exist  between  the  cause 
and  effect,  which  is  something  more  than  a  mean 
between  the  two.  It  is  a  complicated  process,  having 
relations  of  its  own;  and  is  so  distinct  from  the 
terms  which  it  unites,  that  Huxley  and  others  can 
claim  that  it  could  be  dropped  out  without  affecting 
tlie  result. 

Analogy,  however,  when  it  is  perfect,  may  pro- 
duce a  conviction  as  strong  as  can  be  produced  by 
induction;  and  the  resemblance  in  this  case  may,  at 
first  sight,  seem  so  very  perfect  as  to  make  the  reason- 
ing that  is  based  upon  it  wholly  convincing.  There 
is,  however,  one  great  point  of  weakness  which  viti- 
ates the  whole  argument.  In  the  case  from  which 
we  reason,  it  is  the  changes  in  our  own  consciousness 
that  manifest  themselves  to  our  consciousness.  We 
have  a  complete  circle.  Nothing  is  present  that 
involves  elements  which  are,  in  any  strict  sense,  out- 
side of  our  own  minds.  The  result  to  which  the 
argument  leads,  on  the  contrary,  is  the  belief  in 
something  wholly  outside  our  own  mind;  namely, 
the  belief  in  lines  of  consciousness  wholly  foreign  to 
our  own.  When  we  recognize,  on  the  one  side,  the 
solitariness  of  the  fact  from  which  we  reason,  and,  on 
the  other,  the  vast  number  of  the  facts  to  which  we 
apply  our  reasoning;  and  when  we  consider  further 
the  great  flaw  that  has  been  shown  to  exist  in  the 
argument  itself,  we  cannot  attach  much  value  to  it. 

We  need  not,  however,  spend  much  time  in  these 
a  priori  considerations.     We  have  a  practical  test  of 


58         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

the  argument,  that  shows  how  little  confidence  can 
be  placed  in  it.  In  dreams,  the  position  is  precisely 
that  upon  which  the  argument  is  based;  but  we 
know  that  in  dreams  the  argument  is  wholly  de- 
ceptive. We  assume  that  the  changing  groups  of 
phenomena  represent  personalities  like  our  own. 
When  we  wake,  we  pronounce  this  to  be  a  delusion. 
If  the  analogy  deceives  us  at  one  time,  it  may  at 
another.  If  the  mind  at  one  time  may  give  an 
apparently  distinct  life  to  creations  of  its  own,  why 
may  it  not  at  another?  I  know  that  it  will  be  said 
that  dreams  are  fictitious  reproductions  of  what  has 
really  presented  itself  to  our  waking  consciousness. 
This,  however,  is  simply  to  assume  the  whole 
question.  So  far  as  the  argument  is  concerned,  we 
might  as  well  reason  tiie  other  way;  namely,  tliat 
the  experiences  of  our  waking  moments  are  the 
reproductions  of  the  realities  presented  to  our 
dreams. 

A  stronger  way  of  putting  the  argument  would 
be  to  base  it  neither  upon  induction  nor  upon  anal- 
ogy, but  upon  the  fact  that  the  assumption  of  per- 
sonalities outside  ourselves  is  a  hypothesis  that  has 
always  woi'ked  well.  It  has  really  met  the  facts  of 
the  case.  This  argument  is  not  conclusive,  as  may 
be  seen  from  the  old  astronomical  theories  of  cycles 
and  epicycles.  The  hyi)otliesis  worked  well,  but  it 
introduced  cumbersome  elements  which  were  needed 
to  help  it  out.  Might  it  not  be  said  that  the  assump- 
tion of  myriads  of  things  outside  ourselves  intro- 
duces a  machinery  far  more  complicated  than  that 


THE    I'UOIJLEMS    IN    TIIKMHELVES,  59 

beneath  which  the  astronomical  liypothesis  gave 
way;  while  the  opposing  theory,  which  makes  all 
these  forms  that  fill  our  consciousness,  the  creation 
of  our  consciousness  itself,  has  the  advantage  of 
extreme  simplicity.  The  test  from  dreams,  however, 
disposes  of  the  form  of  the  argument  which  is  based 
upon  the  successful  working  of  a  hyi)otliesis,  as  it 
did  of  the  other. 

It  is  not  improbable  that  the  facts  recognized  by 
the  arguments  thus  considered  may  represent  the 
method  by  which  we  really  arrived  at  the  belief  of 
exist»mces  outside  our  own  mind.  It  miglit  even  be 
applied  to  tilings  as  well  as  to  persons.  The  con- 
sciousness that  accompanies  the  group  of  phenomena 
representing  what  we  call  our  own  body,  shows  that 
this  group  has  something  behind  it  or  connected 
with  it;  and  something  similar  to  this  we  ascribe  to 
all  similar  groups.  In  all  these  cases,  this  something 
is  consciousness.  We  may  abstract,  however,  from 
the  consciousness,  and  leave  only  a  vague  somewhat ; 
and  may  thus  reach  the  thought  of  unconscious 
things  outside  our  own  mind.  Schopenhauer  did 
something  of  this  kind.  He  properl}-  called  the  rea- 
soning analogy.*  He  found  within  himself,  deeper 
than  consciousness,  the  will.  This  he  assumed 
to  be  the  reality  of  our  nature;  and  behind  all 
groups  of  phenomena  he  put  either  a  conscious  or 
an  unconscious  will.  Though  this  may  represent 
more  or  less  correctly  the  process  which  the  mind 

»  Die  Welt  als  Wille  und  Vorstelluns.  I,  125 


GO         fichte's  science  op  knowledge. 

has  actually  followed,  the  examination  above  given 
shows  that  as  reasoning  it  is  wholly  unsound. 

All  that  remains,  then,  would  seem  to  be  to  say 
with  Herbert  Spencer,  that  the  belief  in  a  i-eality 
outside  ourselves  is  something  absolute  and  final; 
that  it  can  neither  be  proved  nor  disproved  ;*  for 
either  proof  or  disproof  would  involve  the  idea  of 
something  which  we  believe  more  strongly  than  we 
do  the  fact  of  external  existence,  whereas  this  latter 
belief  is  stronger  than  any  other.  The  phenomena 
of  dreams  would  not  disturb  this  position,  for  we 
have  to  do  with  no  fact  except  that  of  belief  We 
cannot  help  believing  in  our  dreams  while  they  last; 
we  cannot  help  believing  in  our  waking  experiences 
while  they  last.  All  this,  however,  even  though  it 
sliould  prove  to  be  the  final  statement  of  the  case,  is 
extremely  unsatisfactory  from  a  philosophical  point 
of  view.  We  ma}'  indeed  question,  with  some  show 
of  reason  at  least,  the  absolute  certainty  of  the 
assumption  that  the  belief  in  outward  existence  is  so 
immovably  fixed  in  the  mind.  We  must  recognize 
the  fact  that  there  are  two  kinds  of  belief,  each  real 
in  its  way:  the  one  is  an  intellectual  assent  to  a 
proposition  which  is  supported  by  irresistible  argu- 
ments; the  other  is  that  belief  which  we  can  make 
real  to  ourselves,  of  which  we  have,  in  tlie  common 
phrase,  a  realizing  sense.  An  example  of  the  former, 
or  purely  intellectual,  belief,  is  the  assurance  with 
which  we  accept  the  trutli  that  sound  and  color 
are  purely  subjective  experiences.       We  know  that 

*  Spencer's  Psycholorry,  n,  -j5->. 


THK    PUOHLKMS    IN    THKM.SKLVKS.  fil 

tlio  tree  is  not  Ljroen  ami  thai  the  rose  is  not 
red,  in  the  only  sense  in  wliich  the  terms  green  ami 
red  have  any  meaniiiL,'  to  us;  but  of  this  we  liave  no 
realizing  sense  —  indeed,  we  cannot  make!  it  leal  to 
us.  We  know,  too,  that  the  eartii  is  round,  and  that 
it  circles  about  the  sun;  tliis  I)elief  also,  is,  to  most 
men,  i)urely  intellectual;  it  does  not  represent  any- 
thing that  is  real  to  them.  80  it  may  not  be  impos- 
sible that  one  might,  in  the  same  intellectual  way, 
prove  to  himself  ithe  non-existence  of  beings  outside 
of  himself,  while  lie  holds  this  belief  in  the  same 
unreal  way  in  whicli  we  liold  the  belief  in  the  color- 
lessness  and  soundlessness  of  the  external  world. 

However  this  may  be,  the  position  itself  is  one 
that  ort'ers  a  challenge  to  philosophic  thought.  This 
external  reality  is  a  crude  fact  whicli  demands  solu- 
tion. It  is  not,  like  the  existence  of  ourselves,  abso- 
lutely given  in  consciousness.  It  is  simply  assumed 
by  consciousness.  The  matter  is  not  merely  one  of 
theoretical  interest.  We  are  moulded,  we  are  told, 
by  our  environment.  Now,  here  we  have  a  real 
environment  which  hems  us  in  on  every  side;  which 
we  assume;  but  of  which  we  can  confessedly  know 
absolutely  nothing.  Now,  if  we  could  reach  to  any 
knowledge  of  this,  if  w^e  could  even  have  any 
l)lausible  theory  about  it,  if  we  could  put  our  belief 
in  it  into  any  such  shape  as  would  throw  light  ui)on 
our  real  relation  to  it,  this  might  seriously  affect 
our  lives.  A  materialistic  view  of  this  outlying 
reality  might  lower  our  natures;  a  spiritualistic 
view  might  exalt  them.     A  view  of  our  relations  to 


62         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

it,  or  of  the  ground  of  our  belief  in  it,  might,  in 
like  manner,  debase  or  exalt.  Thought  in  this  direc- 
tion is  then  challenged.  The  problem  it  would  seek 
to  solve  is  one  of  the  highest  theoretical  and  prac- 
tical interest,  and  no  such  problem  can  be  pro- 
nounced in  advance  to  be  wholly  insokible. 

In  what  has  been  said,  it  will  be  seen  that  I 
have  not  been  discussing  the  problem  suggested.  I 
have  merely  wished  to  make  it  clear  that  it  is 
a  real  problem.  In  special,  I  have  wished  to  lead 
the  reader  to  the  point  where  he  will  fully  under- 
stand the  problem  with  which  Fichte  at  first  busied 
himself.  In  order  to  follow  the  reasoning  of  Fichte 
with  any  sort  of  sympathy,  or  even  with  any 
degree  of  real  comprehension,  it  is  necessary  to 
realize  that  all  that  is  directly  given  us,  is  a  single 
moment  in  consciousness  with  whatever  is  actually 
contained  in  it.  If  one  cannot  fully  accept  this  posi- 
tion, one  must  at  least  have  it  distinctly  in  mind, 
and  must  be  able  to  understand  how  another  might 
naturally  and  not  unreasonably  hold  this  position. 
It  must  be  assumed,  then,  that  this  single  moment  of 
consciousness  is  the  only  fact  that  we  hold  in  direct 
possession.  We  are  like  one  who  seems  to  himself 
to  be  sitting  in  a  lofty  and  pillared  hall,  looking 
from  it  out  upon  the  landscape  that  stretches 
beyond.  Of  the  pillars  that  seem  to  rise  near  him, 
some  he  has  been  able  to  discover  to  be  frescoed 
imitations  upon  a  plain  surface.  Those  more  distant 
he  cannot  reach  to  determine  whether  they  also  are 
fictitious.       Of  the  windows  that   seem  to  look  out 


TIIK    I'UOHLEMS    IN   THEMSELVES.  63 

upon  the  world,  some  lie  lias  discovered  to  consist 
merely  of  painted  screens.  The  others  have  been, 
thus  far,  inaccessible,  so  that  he  cannot  test  their 
real  nature.  Thus  does  the  self  sit  in  the  centre  of 
its  world.  It  is  surrounded  by  the  semblance  of 
reality.  A  part  of  this  presentation  it  has  found  to 
be  the  product  of  its  own  imagination.  The  rest,  so 
far  as  it  is  accepted  at  all,  must  be  accepted  on  trust. 
I  repeat  that  a  single  moment  of  consciousness  is  all 
that  is  directly  given.  We  spuak  of  the  past.  We 
do  this  in  the  confidence  that  our  memory  really 
represents  what  has  actually  occurred.  This  age 
professes  to  take  nothing  without  verification.  All 
verification  depends  upon  the  validity  of  memory. 
I  do  not  mean  merely  on  the  accuracy  of  memory, 
so  far  as  details  are  concerned,  but  on  the  validity  of 
memory  as  representing  a  real  past  in  the  most  gen- 
eral sense  of  the  word.  Who  can  verify  this  assump- 
tion? Who  has  ever  gone  back  to  see  whether  there 
be  or  be  not  a  past? 

I  am  not  (juestioning  the  fact;  I  merely  wish  to 
make  it  clear  that  memory  itself  is  purely  of  the 
mind,  and  that  its  testimony  is  accepted  wholly 
on  trust.  I  wish  to  make  it  clear  that,  so  far  as 
we  are  concerned,  the  effect  would  be  the  same  if 
there  were  no  past,  if  only  there  remained  the  men- 
tal condition  that  we  regard  as  representing  the 
past.  We  can  understand  this  in  matters  of  detail. 
People  often  are  sure  that  they  remember  some- 
thing that  never  occurred.  Their  mental  condition 
is  precisely  what  it  would  be   if  the  event  had  oc- 


64  fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

curred.  Make  for  a  moment  the  supposition  that 
of  all  that  we  seem  to  remember,  nothing  ever 
occurred;  and  our  mental  state  would  be  as  unaf- 
fected by  the  change  as  the  mental  state  of  any 
individual  is  unaffected  by  the  falsity  of  liis  special 
memory  in  regard  to  special  details.  The  same 
is  true  in  regard  to  the  outward  world.  If  that 
should  be  destroyed,  or  if  it  had  never  existed,  our 
mental  state  i-emaining  the  same,  we  should  not 
know  the  difference;  just  as  in  dreams,  our  con- 
sciousness is  precisely  what  it  would  be  if  the 
dreams  represented  a  real  world. 

All  this,  I  know,  has  to  do  with  the  very  rudi- 
ments of  [)hiloso[)hy.  We  have,  in  fact,  escaped 
from  the  limitation  of  a  purely  subjective  existence. 
We  are  like  the  Jin  that,  had  escaped  from  tlie 
casket.  He  was  at  lai'ge,  and  there  was  no  power 
on  earth  that  could  shut  him  up  in  it  again.  80 
we  have  escaped  from  this  subjective  imprison- 
ment, and  are  free  of  the  universe.  l>y  no  effort 
of  the  imagination  can  we  realize  the  limitation 
of  which  I  have  spoken.  There  is  needed,  how- 
ever, a  philoso[)hy  that  shall  deal  with  tlie  rudi- 
ments, that  shall  start  with  an  analysis  of  the  con- 
sciousness itself.  If  we  are  at  large,  we  need  to 
know  by  what  right,  and  especially  under  what 
conditions.  If  it  should  a})pear  that  we  are  disre- 
garding the  conditions  under  which  we  are  made 
free  of  the  world,  that  we  are  misinterpreting  the 
tenure  of  our  possession,  it  may  be  helpful  that  we 
should  know  it. 


CHAPTEll  TV. 
THE  I  AND  THE  ME.* 

WE  have  now  to  follow  Ficlite  as  ho  attempts 
lo  solve  the  problems  which  wo  have  recog- 
nized. 

As  we  have  already  seen,  Fichte's  idea  of  a  pliilo- 
so[)hieal  system  requires  that  it  shall  bo  based  upon 
one  absolutely  certain  and  independent  proposition. 
This  i)roposition  must  not  be  one  that  can  be  proved, 
otherwise  it  would  not  be  the  starting  point  of  the 
system.  There  can  be  but  one  such  proposition, 
for  if  there  were  more  than  one,  we  should  have  not 
a  system,  but  only  an  api)roach  toward  a  system; 
or  else  we  should  have  as  many  systems  as  there  are 
propositions.  This  fundamental  proposition  must 
not  be  found  among  those  that  occur  in  our  con- 
scious thought;    for  in  this  case   we  might  demand 

*  I  will  hure  ex()lain  a  slight  inoditication  that  I  shall  make  in 
tho  use  of  terms  which  represent  respectively  the  subject  and  the 
object  of  consciousness.  Tlie  subject  of  consciousness  will  be  natur- 
ally designated  as  the  I.  The  object  of  consciousness  will  be  desig- 
nated us  the  Me.  The  object  of  consciousness,  however,  will  be 
found  to  consist  of  two  elements,  namely,  the  Me  and  the  Not-me. 
The  Me  and  the  Not-me  are  antithetical  to  one  another;  but  both,  as 
forming  the  content  of  consciousness,  are  aiitithviical  to  the  I,  which 
is  the  subject  of  consciousness.  While  it  may  not  be  possible  in  all 
cases  to  preserve  this  distinction,  it  will  be  generally  maintained. 
The  exceptional  cases  in  which  this  distinction  cannot  be  made,  are 
those  in  which  the  I  represents  the  whole  personality. 
5  65 


66         fichte's  science  of  knowledge, 

its  credentials.  We  should  have  to  seek  for  its 
basis.  We  must  go  beneath  our  ordinary  conscious- 
ness to  find  that  proposition  whicli  shall  state  the 
ground  of  all  our  conscious  thinking. 

The  method  by  which  we  must  seek  this  fun- 
damental truth,  is  to  take  some  proposition  that 
is  regarded  by  us  as  absolutely  certain,  and  will 
so  be  regarded  by  all;  and  to  inquire  what  must 
be  assumed  in  order  to  justify  this  certainty.  Al- 
most any  proposition  which  has  this  obvious  and 
unmistakable  certainty  would  answer  for  our  pur- 
pose; only  some  propositions  would  require  a  more 
complicated  process  of  thought  than  others.  The 
proposition  from  which  we  take  our  start  in  the 
search  for  the  absolute  and  underlying  truth,  must 
be  as  abstract  as  possible.  Any  proposition  that 
is  not  thus  abstract,  would  have  to  be  reduced  to 
its  most  abstract  or  formal  statement  before  it  could 
be  used.  It  is,  then,  better  to  start  with  one  that 
is  already  as  abstract  and  formal  as  possible.  One 
such  proposition  will  serve  our  turn  as  well  as 
another.  We  will  take  the  first  that  offers  itself. 
When  we  seek  such  a  proposition  —  one,  namely,  that 
is  purely  formal,  and  that  nobody  will  or  can  doubt — 
the  one  that  most  readily  offers  itself  is  this:  A 
is  A,  or,  what  is  the  same  tiling,  A— A.  This  is 
a  proposition  that  it  will  occur  to  no  one  to  doubt — 
and  it  cannot  be  reduced  to  anything  more  ab- 
stract or  formal.  This,  then,  shall  be  our  starting 
point. 

It   will    be   noticed   that   in    the   proposition   the 


THE    1    AND   THE    ME.  67 

existence  or  non-existence  of  A  does  not  concern  us. 
We  may  put  into  A  whatever  iini)ossiljlo  content 
we  will,  and  the  proposition  will  still  be  true.  8ni)- 
pose  we  assume  that  A  represents  space  inclosed 
by  two  straij^ht  lines.  In  this  case  our  proposition 
would  be:  A  s[»ace  inclosed  by  two  straight  lines 
is  a  space  inclosed  by  two  straight  lines.  This 
proposition  is  as  true  as  the  purely  formal  one 
which  it  represents.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  our 
proposition  had  alHrmed  tliat  there  is  a  space  in- 
closed by  two  straight  lines,  it  would  be  false. 
Thus  we  say,  not  that  A  is;   but  that  A  is  A. 

This  involves  the  assumption  that,  if  A  is,  then 
it  is  A.  In  this,  we  do  not  assume  that  A  actually 
exists.  The  same  proposition  could  be  made  of 
the  space  inclosed  in  two  lines  as  above.  In  re- 
gard to  this,  we  could  affirm  that  if  it  exists,  it  is 
a  space  inclosed  within  two  lines. 

Lest  the  reader  should  fancy  these  formal  propo- 
sitions to  be  purely  an  idle  play,  lest  he  even  fail 
to  see  that  they  are  in  any  true  sense  propositions, 
and  thus  be  unable  even  to  think  the  statements 
that  have  been  made,  it  may  be  well  to  illustrate 
the  use  of  the  Proposition  of  Identity,  of  which 
the  proposition  A  is  A  is  an  example.  Such 
propositions  may  practically  exist  under  either  of 
two  conditions.  The  first  of  these  conditions  is 
that  the  subject  and  predicate  express  the  same 
content,  but  under  different  forms.  Of  this  the 
mathematical  equation  may  furnish  the  type.  In 
an  algebraic  problem,  the  process  of  calculation  is 


68  fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

needed  to  reduce  the  identity  to  its  simplest  form. 
We  use  the  term  x  to  express,  in  an  anticipatory 
and  formal  way,  the  result  that  we  seek.  When  the 
result  has  been  reached,  so  that  we  can  say,  for 
instance,  x=^(),  we  have  a  proposition  of  identity 
of  the  kind  described.  It  expresses  identity  of  con- 
tent under  difference  of  form.  This  difference  of 
form  has,  however,  now  become  useless,  and  x  dis- 
appears. 

In  the  higher  kinds  of  mathematical  equation, 
there  is  the  same  identity  of  content  united  with 
a  like  difference  of  form.  It  is  the  same  (jxaiitinn 
that  is  expiessed  by  the  two  terms  of  an  ecjuatioii; 
but  this  qucoitidH  is  regarded  as  existing  under 
different  forms,  otherwise  there  would  be  no  reason 
for  the  existence  of  the  equation. 

The  other  case  in  which  the  proposition  of  iden- 
tity may  be  practically  used,  is  that  in  which  one 
wishes  to  make  oljvious  the  fact  that  every  indi- 
vidual of  a  class  possesses  the  essential  attributes 
of  the  class  to  which  it  belongs.  Thus,  the  familiar 
phrase  of  Burns,  "A  man's  a  man,"  is  a  proposi- 
tion of  identity.  Its  formula  would  be  A  is  A.  Its 
real  significance  is  tliat  the  individual  man,  what- 
ever his  outward  condition,  possesses  that  inherent 
worth  which  belongs  to  man  in  general. 

It  will  be  noticed  that  in  neither  of  the  illustra- 
tions adduced  is  there  absolute  identity  between  the 
subject  and  the  predicate.  In  the  one  case,  there  is 
a  difference  of  form ;  in  the  other,  there  is  a  differ- 
ence of  emphasis  in  regard  to  the  content.     In  each 


TUE    I    ANI>   TIIK    MF:.  G9 

case,  if  it  were  not  for  this  difference,  the  propo- 
sition would  not  exist.  It  will  be  seen  as  we  ad- 
vance that  the  fundamental  proposition  of  Fichte  is 
of  the  same  nature.  It  also  will  be  seen  to  involve 
a  difference,  and  to  be  dependent  upon  this  differ- 
ence for  its  existence.  Strictly  speaking,  there  is  no 
proposition  of  identity.  In  the  proposition  A  is  A, 
if  there  is  no  other  element  of  difference,  there  is  at 
least  this:  that  one  A  is  the  subject  and  the  other  is 
the  predicate.  To  the  proposition  of  Fichte  we  will 
now  return. 

The  proposition,  If  A  is,  then  it  is  A,  involves  a 
necessary  connection  between  A,  the  subject  of  the 
leading  proposition,  and  the  A  that  is  the  predicate  of 
the  dependent  proposition.  It  is  this  necessary  con- 
nection, the  dependence  of  one  upon  the  other,  that  is 
assumed  absolutely  and  witliout  ground.  The  prop- 
osition itself,  A  is  A,  though  assumed  as  established 
without  proof,  must  have,  as  we  see  when  we  think 
of  it,  some  basis.  There  must  be  some  reason  why 
we  are  sure  that  A  is  A.  This  reason  must  exist, 
none  tlie  less,  although  it  is  assumed  by  us  uncon- 
sciously, and  even  though  in  any  case  we  might 
be  puzzled  to  say  what  this  reason  is.  We  affirm, 
for  instance,  that  the  Right  is  Right.  If  we  are  asked 
why  the  Right  is  Right  we  might  not  know  what  to 
say.  Most  men,  perhajis,  have  never  even  raised  the 
question.  Those  who  have  raised  it  have  given 
many  different  answers.  Yet  we  all  see,  not  only 
that  the  proposition  must  be  true,  but  that  there 
must  be.  if  we  could  tind   it,  some   absolute  yround 


70         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

for  its  truth.  We  repeat,  then,  that  the  proposition, 
A  is  A,  implies  a  necessary  ground  between  the  sub- 
ject and  the  predicate.  This  ground  of  connection 
we  will  call,  for  the  present,  X. 

I  may  illustrate  the  place  which  A'  holds  in  the 
discussion  by  reference  to  the  ordinary  processes  of 
logic.  We  say  A  is  B.  When  we  are  asked  for  a 
reason  we  introduce  some  intermediate  term.  Our 
ground  of  connection,  we  will  say,  is  C.  We  have, 
then,  the  syllogistic  form,  A  is  C,  and  C  is  B,  there- 
fore A  is  B.  In  a  proposition  of  this  kind  we  ordi- 
narily feel  the  need  of  a  connecting  element,  and 
we  seek  it  consciously.  In  the  proposition  A  \s  A, 
it  is  obvious  that  a  ground  of  connection  is  equally 
needed,  though  we  may  not  ordinarily  think  of  the 
necessity,  and  do  not  consciously  seek  it.  We  as- 
sume its  existence,  even  if  we  cannot  consciously  state 
it.  Until  we  shall  be  able  to  state  it  really,  we  will, 
as  was  just  said,  call  it  A'. 

Where  are  we  to  seek  for  this  A'  which  forms  the 
indispensable  ground  of  this  connection  between  the 
subject  and  the  predicate  of  our  proposition?  What- 
ever else  may  or  may  not  be  true  in  regard  to  it, 
two  things  may  be  affirmed  without  hesitation:  first, 
its  existence  is  assumed  by  the  thinking  subject, 
the  I.  The  I  pronounces  the  judgment,  A  is  A.  It 
must  base  its  judgment  upon  some  principle.  Sec- 
ondly, it  finds  this  principle  within  itself.  The  I,  in 
judging,  follows  an  inevitable  law  which  exists  in 
itself.  For  this  principle,  whatever  its  ultimate  form 
may  be,  the  I,  or   the  thinking  subject,  can  give  no 


THE    I    AND   THE    ME.  71 

reason.  At  tho  same  time,  it  recof^nizes  the  abso- 
luteness of  the  principle.  So  truly  as  it  judges,  must 
it  judge  according  to  this  law.  It  is  one  that  is 
given  to  the  I,  and  given  to  it  by  itself;  that  is,  it  is 
given  to  it  by  its  own  nature.  So  long  as  the  I  is 
what  it  is,  so  long  as  it  is  an  I,  it  cannot  judge  oth- 
erwise. 

There  is  a  word  which  is  so  convenient  a  one  in 
tho  presentation  of  the  system  of  Fichte,  and  is  so 
uniformly  used  in  this  presentation,  that  it  cannot 
be  avoided.  I  refer  to  the  word,  posit.  The  word  is 
undesirable  because  it  has  a  technical  sound,  and 
also  because  it  has  the  fault  that  we  might  hope  to 
escape  by  technicality;  namely,  that  of  being  some- 
what vague  and  ambiguous.  The  original  German 
word  for  which  this  word,  posit,  stands,  is,  at  least. 
t'((uall3'  ambiguous,  and  has  been  repeatedly  misun- 
derstood. At  first,  Fichte  used  it  without  explana- 
tion. Later  he  repeatedly  explained  its  meaning, 
driven  to  this,  without  doubt,  by  misunderstandings 
tJKit  had  arisen.*  The  word,  posit,  means  to  find  or 
recognize,  and  thus  to  assume  as  given.  The  stu- 
dents of  Fichte,  even  careful  students,  have  some- 
times been  tempted  to  give  to  it  a  more  active  mean- 
ing, to  put  into  it  more  or  less  distinctly  the  idea  of 

*  The  word  to  wiiich  reference  is  made  is  sefsen.  Even  in  the 
(irundlau'e,  tlic  use  of  tlie  word  is  sometimes  unmistal<able,  as: 
"Setzet  als  den  Zweiteu  Fall,  n.  s.  w."— Siimmtliche  Werke,  I,  147. 
In  the  Keelitslehre,  especially,  the  word  is  sometimes  explained,  as  in 
tlie  following  scntenct-:  "The  rational  being  is  onl}' in  so  far  as  it 
posits  itself  as  being,  that  is  to  s:iy,  in  so  far  as  it  is  conscious  of  it- 
Belf,"  III,  2.  Of  course,  in  a  different  connection,  the  word  may  have 
another  meaning 


72         fichte's  science  of  knowledge.     . 

creation.  The  word  may  someiimes  indirectly  in- 
volve the  idea  of  creation.  The  attention  of  the 
reader  will  be  called  to  this  secondary  meaning. 
From  the  word,  in  the  primary  significance  which 
Fichte  gives  to  it,  this  meaning  is  wholly  wanting. 

In  the  proposition,  A  is  A,  we  do  not  know 
whether  or  not  A  is  actually  posited.  A',  however, 
shows  a  connection  between  a  hyi)othetical  positing 
of  A  as  subject,  and  an  absolute  positing  of  the  same 
A  as  predicate.  This  A',  which  is  the  ground  of  the 
necessar}^  relation  between  A  as  subject  and  A  as 
predicate,  is  absolutely  posited  in  the  I.  A'  has  no 
meaning  except  in  relation  to  an  A;  consequently 
the  extremes  which  A  connects  must  also  be  posited, 
if  they  are  posited  at  all,  in  the  I,  for  it  is  necessary 
that  all  should  exist  in  the  same  sjihere,  if  there  is 
to  be  any  relation  between  them.  The  A  as  subject 
and  the  A  as  predicate  must  then  be  found  in  the 
same  I. 

We  have  thus  established  the  identity  of  the  I. 
There  is  something  in  the  tli inking  suliject  whi(-h  is 
always  the  same,  namely.  A'.  This  is  absolute, 
whether  A  is  actual  or  hypothetical.  A'  involves, 
actually  or  hypothetically,  both  A  as  subject  and  A 
as  predicate.  These  arc,  therefore,  in  the  I,  and  in 
the  same  I;  consequently,  the  I  must  be  identical 
with  itself.  We  may  then  substitute  for  the  propo- 
sition, A  is  A,  another  proposition  which  we 
have  found  to  be  involved  in  it,  namely;  I  am  T. 
A'  is  absolutely  p(jsiled;  thnt  is,  we  recognize  it  as 
expressing  an  unquestionable  and  permanent  truth. 


THE    I    AND   THE    ME.  73 

To  the  proposition,  [  am  I,  which  is  involved  in  A', 
may  be  ascribed  a  similar  absoluteness. 

The  proposition,  I  am  I,  may  at  first  sight 
appear  as  meaningless  as  did  the  proposition,  A  is 
A.  It  may  even  appear  more  absurd,  because  it 
has  a  more  definite  content.  We  found,  however, 
that  the  so-called  Proposition  of  Identity  has  often  a 
real  meaning  and  importance.  This  is  especially 
true  of  the  proposition,  I  am  I.  The  I  of  tiie  subject 
and  the  1  of  the  predicate  represent  the  subject  and 
predicate  of  the  i)roposition,  A  is  A.  The  I  as  sub- 
ject and  the  I  as  predicate  represent  the  I  in  differ- 
ent i-elations  and  at  different  moments.  It  affirms, 
then,  the  permanent  identity  of  the  I. 

The  proposition,  I  ai;i  1.  has  a  very  diff'erent  sig- 
nificance from  the  proposif  ion,  A  is  A  ;  for  the 
former  has  a  content  only  under  a  certain  condition. 
If  A  is  posited,  then  it  certainly  must  be  posited  as 
possessing  the  predicate  A.  We  do  not,  however, 
atfiriii  that  it  is  actually  posited.  The  i)roposition,  I 
am  I,  has,  on  the  contrary,  absolute  force;  for  it  is 
involved  in  X.  and  A' we  have  found  to  have  absolute 
validity.  The  proposition,  I  am  I,  has  absolute 
validity,  not  only  so  far  as  its  form  goes,  but  also  as 
to  its  content.  The  I  is  affirmed  to  exist  not  condi- 
tionally, but  absolutely.  Tlie  proposition,  then,  may 
with  e(ju;il  truth  assume  the  form,  I  am. 

The  proposition,  1  am,  is  now  recognized  as  true, 
but  only  as  a.  fact.  We  have  recognized,  in  the  I, 
merely  being,  not  activity.  It  is  simply  a  fact  of 
consciousness  that  we  recognize  the  truth  of  A',  and 


74         fichte's  science  of  kxowledge. 

that  A"  involves  the  reality  of  the  I.  We  have  thus 
found  that  before  anything  is  posited  b}"  the  I,  it 
must  have  posited  itself.  We  affirm  this,  unhesi- 
tatingly, in  regard  to  all  the  facts  of  consciousness, 
because  we  have  seen  that  A'  is  the  highest  fact  of 
consciousness,  and  that  all  other  facts  depend  u{)on 
this.  Later,  we  shall  see  that  the  I  is  not  merely  a 
fact,  but  an  activity. 

This  method  of  reaching  the  idea  of  the  I  througli 
the  processes  of  thought,  is  compared  b}'  Fichte  with 
tlie  famous  procedure  of  Descartes.  The  affirmation, 
Coy'ito,  ergo  sum,  Fichte  rightly  affirms  to  involve, 
not  a  deduction,  of  which  the  major  premise  is, 
Whatever  thinks,  is;  but  a  direct  fact  of  conscious- 
ness. In  another  connection,  he  criticises  Descartes 
unjustl}',  by  affirming  that  thought  represents  only 
one  form  of  our  being,  while  there  are,  besides  this, 
many  other  forms.  We  not  only  think,  we  do  much 
else.  This  criticism  is  false,  for  Fichte  seems  not  to 
have  recognized  the  fact  that  thought,  considered  in 
its  most  universal  form,  is  a  constant  element  of  all 
our  other  activity.  Descartes  was  sure  of  but  one 
thing;  that  is,  of  his  doubt  of  all  things.  In  his  very 
doubt,  however,  he  found  the  certainty  of  himself. 
The  position  of  Descartes  differs,  however,  from  that 
of  Fichte,  in  two  very  important  particulars.  In 
tlie  first  i»lace  (and  tliis  distinction  is  remarked  by 
Fichte)  the  pi'oi)Osition,  CofjUo,  ei'i/o  sioii.  is  not  placed 
as  the  starting  i)oint  oi'  a  system;  but  stands  as  an 
isolated  fact  of  constnousness.  Descartes  compares 
other  propositions  with  it;    he  deduces  none  fi'om  it. 


TIIK    r    AND   THE    MK.  75 

In  tlio  spcoml  iilace,  tli<!  position  reached  by  Fielitt; 
is  more  explicit  tiian  that  reachtMl  Uy  Descartes. 
Descartes  allirincd  the  I.  Fichte  proved  the  identity 
of  the  I. 

It  has  been  maintained  by  some,  that  the  T  is 
simply  a  series  of  states  of  consciousness.  Hume 
has  perhaps  jiresented  this  view  with  more  clearness 
and  force  than  others,  but  it  is  stated  or  implied 
by  many  writers  of  the  present  day.  Thou^flit  is 
recognized,  but  not  the  thinker.  Tiie  result  reached 
by  Fichte  involves  the  affirmation  of  some  sort  of 
personal  identity.  His  fundamental  proposition  af- 
firms that  the  I  is  in  and  through  all  the  processes 
of  thought. 

It  must  not  be  assumed  that  the  I  is  thus  made 
to  be  a  matter  of  deduction.  It  does  not  depend 
upon  the  })roposition.  .1  is  .1 ;  the  proposition,  A  is 
A,  depends  upon  it.  It  is  present  in  all  processes  of 
thought,  not  as  resulting  from  them,  but  as  that 
from  which  they  result,  and  u[)on  which  they  at 
every  point  depend. 

It  may  be  helpful  to  compare  with  the  reasoning 
of  Fichte,  that  of  a  recent  English  writer.  The  latter 
being  put  in  [ho.  language  of  our  lime  and  to  meet 
the  exigencies  of  modern  thought,  may  be  more  intel- 
ligible, or  may  at  least  have  a  greater  air  of  reality 
than  the  course  of  thought  which  we  have  been  con- 
sidering. I  will  therefore  quote  a  few  lines  from 
the  late  Professor  T.  H.  Green.  The  passage  quoted 
should,  however,  be  taken  in  connection  with  its 
surroundings. 


76         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

"  If  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  connected  expe- 
rience of  related  objects,  there  must  be  operative  in 
consciousness  a  unifying  principle,  which  not  only 
presents  related  objects  to  itself,  but  at  once  renders 
them  objects  and  unites  them  in  relation  to  each 
other  by  this  act  of  presentation;  and  which  is  single 
throughout  the  experience.  The  unity  of  this  prin- 
ciple must  be  correlative  to  the  unity  of  the  experi- 
ence. If  all  possible  experience  of  related  objects  — 
the  experience  of  a  thousand  years  ago  and  the 
experience  of  to-day,  the  experience  which  I  have 
here  and  that  which  I  might  have  in  any  other 
region  of  space  —  forms  a  single  system;  if  there 
can  be  no  such  thing  as  an  experience  of  unrelated 
objects;  then  there  must  be  a  corresponding  single- 
ness in  that  principle  of  consciousness  which  forms 
the  bonds  of  the  relation  between  the  objects."  * 

We  have  seen  that  the  proposition,  I  am,  must  be 
taken  as  a  fact.  It  is  a  fact  that  is  absolutely  given. 
It  cannot  be  deduced  from  anything  else,  but  all 
deduction  starts  from  it.  Tiie  I  then  posits  itself 
absolutely.  Since  this  recognition  of  itself  depends 
upon  nothing  else,  and  since  it  is  so  al)solutely  given 
in  human  consciousness,  the  positing  of  itself  must 
be  the  pure,  or  absolute,  activity  of  the  I.  The  I 
posits  itself  and  /.s  ))y  means  of  this  mere  positing  of 
itself;  and  on  the  othei'  hand,  tlie  I  />•  and  it  posits 
itself  througli  its  mere  l)eing.  It  is  at  once  the  actor 
and  the  product  of  the  act:  the  dner  and  that  which 

*  Green:  Pioloircmiena  to  Etiiics.  'i\.  et  seq. 


THE   I    AND   THE    ME.  77 

is  brought  forth  by  the  doing.  The  act  and  the 
accomplislimiMit  are  one  and  the  same. 

The  I  then  is,  merely  so  far  as  it  posits  itself;  and 
it  posits  itself  absolutely  because  it  is.  In  more  fa- 
miliar speech,  self-consciousness  is  at  once  the  result 
of  the  existence  of  the  I,  and  the  cause  of  its  exist- 
ence, in  the  sense  that  it  constitutes  its  essence.  We 
understand  then  in  what  sense  the  word  I  is  used; 
namely,  in  that  of  the  absolute  subject.  The  I  may 
be  defined  to  be  that  which  posits  itself  as  being.  As 
it  posits  itself,  so  it  is,  and  as  it  is,  so  it  posits  itself; 
tiierefore  the  I  is  absolutely  and  necessarily /or  itself. 
The  stone  has  an  existence  for  us;  we  recognize  it, 
and  say.  There  is  a  stone.  But  the  stone  has  no 
existence  for  itself.  It  has  no  consciousness  or  recog- 
nition of  itself.  It  is  for  us;  it  is  not  for  itself. 
In  the  language  of  Fichte,  we  posit  it,  but  it  does  not 
posit  itself.  Only  that  which  is  for  itself  is  an  I, 
and  the  being  for  itself  is  what  constitutes  it  an  I. 

The  question  is  often  raised.  What  was  I  before  I 
came  to  consciousness?  The  obvious  answer  is,  I 
was  not,  for  I  was  not  I.  The  question  arises  out  of 
a  confusion  between  the  I  as  subject,  and  the  I  as  an 
object  of  the  thought  or  recognition  of  some  other 
subject.  We  try  to  think  of  ourselves  as  an  object. 
The  consciousness  receives  in  this  way  a  sub-stratum, 
—  something  that  would  be  even  without  conscious- 
ness; and  we  ask,  What  is  this  sub-stratum  of  con- 
sciousness? But  in  all  this  we  assume  unconsciously  a 
subject,  perhaps  the  absolute  subject.  We  ai-e  intro- 
ducing into  the  problem  that  which  is  assumed  by 


78         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

the  problem.  We  put  ourselves,  as  it  were,  outside 
of  ourselves;  and  then  ask,  how,  in  that  case,  we 
should  appear  to  ourselves.  But  we  cannot  think 
witliout  assuiniuff  our  own  self-consciousness.  Our 
self-consciousness  is  the  one  thing  from  which  we 
cannot  escape  by  any  process  of  abstraction.  We 
live  in  the  world  of  thought.  Everything  appears 
to  us  as  we  think  it.  The  problem.  What  can  we 
til  ink  of  that  which  is  wholly  outside  our  thought?  is 
one  tliat  is  unanswerable.  If  we  cannot  answer  the 
question,  What  is  the  object  of  thought  apart  from 
thought?  still  more  unanswerable  is  the  question, 
What  is  the  subject  of  thought  ai)art  from  thouglit? 
This  is  the  real  meaning  of  the  question.  What  am  I 
when  I  am  unconscious?  This,  Fichte  insists,  is  a 
question  that  should  never  be  asked. 

To  the  reader  who  cannot  help  thinking,  in  con- 
nection with  the  I,  of  some  object  to  which  conscious- 
ness is  an  accident,  something  to  which  consciousness 
may  be  added  and  from  which  it  may  ]>e  taken  away 
—  as  a  musical  instrument  may  be  abstracted  from  its 
sound,  and  may  Ije  considered  as  something  to  which 
sound  is  an  accident,  which  can  exist  silent  as  well 
as  sounding, —  to  him  the  statements  just  made  will 
be  unsatisfactory,  if  not  incomprehen.siblc.  To  such 
a  reader,  T  would  say  that  the  ditference  in  the  point 
of  view  is,  at  this  stage  of  tlic  reasoning,  immaterial. 
I  do  not  wish  him  to  make  any  effort  to  strain  his 
thought  in  the  direction  which  the  discussion  has 
been  following.  Me  will  doubtless  grant  readily  that 
if  an  I  be  deprived  of  ifs  consciousness,  the  residuum 


Till-;    I    AND   THK    MK.  79 

would  at  least  be  no  longer  an  I.  From  being  a 
subject  it  would  have  become  an  oliject.  We  are 
not,  however,  here  inquiring  as  to  the  nature  of  the 
object,  but  as  to  tiiat  of  the  subject.  We  will 
assume,  then,  as  granted,  that  the  I  without  con- 
sciousness would  not  be  an  I ;  that  the  essence  of  the 
I,  as  such,  is  self-consciousness. 

Fichtc  ai)pends  to  the  discussion  certain  additional 
propositions  which  grow  out  of  it: 

If  the  I  is,  only  so  far  as  it  posits  itself,  it  is  only 
for  itself.  I  am  only  for  myself;  but  for  myself  \ 
am  by  necessity. 

To  posit  itself  and  to  be,  are,  when  used  of  the  I, 
precisely  the  same.  Therefore  the  proposition,  I  am, 
because  I  have  posited  myself  (or  recognized  myself), 
may  be  thus  expressed:  I  am,  absolutely  because 
I  am. 

Further,  the  T  that  posits  itself  and  the  I  which  is 
posited  are  one  and  the  same  thing.  The  I  is  what 
it  posits  itself  as  being,  and  it  posits  itself  as  that 
which  it  is.     Thus  I  am  absolutely  what  I  am. 

He  sums  all  up  in  the  statement,  I  am  alisolutely; 
that  is,  I  am,  absolutely  because  I  am,  and  am 
absolutely  what  I  am;  both  for  the  [. 

The  proposition,  then,  which  must  stand  at  the 
head  of  any  system  of  the  Science  of  Knowledge, 
must  be  expressed  thus:  The  I  posits  originally  and 
absolutely  its  own  being.  All  this  is  equivalent  to 
saying  that  the  I  is  necessarily  identity  of  subject 
and  object.  It  is  subject-olyect,  and  it  is  this  abso- 
lutely, without  any  mediation. 


80         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

Perhaps  these  statements,  in  spi^e  of  what  has 
gone  before,  may  need  some  exphuiation.  The  sys- 
tem of  Fichte  is  essentially  a  science.  He  means  to 
assume  nothing  that  1.5  not  absolutely  and  directly 
given.  In  this  sense,  he  proposes  to  make  no  assump- 
tion. This  must  not  be  suppos'jd  to  mean  that  he 
begins  without  accepting  anything  as  given.  He 
accepts  the  self  as  given.  A  man  is  conscious  of 
himself;  that  is,  of  all  that  his  mind  contains, —  his 
thoughts  and  his  feelings.  Whatever  is  given  more 
than  this,  is  given  indirectly.  Fichte  starts  only 
with  what  is  directly,  and  thus  absolutely,  given. 
He  says  thus:  I  am  only  for  myself.  The  meaning 
of  this  is  that  the  self  which  is  given  to  anyone 
in  his  own  consciousness  is  thus  given  to  himself 
only.  If  others  accept  his  existence,  or  if  he  accepts 
the  existence  of  others,  this  is  done  indirectly.  He 
is  not  for  others,  and  others  are  not  for  him 
in  the  same  absolute  sense  in  which  each  is  for 
himself.  Indeed,  at  this  point  of  the  discussion, 
we  have  no  right  to  assume  that  others  exist. 
We  have  to  do  only  with  the  one  point  of  abso- 
lute, that  is,  immediate,  certainty.  It  is  olten 
said  that  Fichte  never  i)assed  beyond  this  point; 
that  he  never  recognized  the  reality  that  is  given 
indirectly.  This  prepossession  is  so  common  that  t 
refer  to  it  here  in  order  that  the  reader  may  not 
fancy  that  he  has  already  exhausted  the  thought  of 
Ficlite.  We  must  remember  that  we  have  here  to 
do  only  with  that  which  is  given  absolutely  at  first 
hand,  which  must  be  the  starting  point  of  any  scien- 


THE    I    ANIJ   Tin-]    ME.  81 

tific  treatment  of  our  knowledge;  that  is,  of  any 
treatment  which  begins  at  first  principles.  With 
this  explanation,  I  think  that  the  position  of  Fichte 
will  be  clear.  If  the  reader,  after  all,  is  not  fully 
prepared  to  accept  it,  he  will,  I  think,  easily  under- 
stand how  Fichte  could  occupy  this  position  without 
any  of  that  extravagance  that  is  often  attributed  to 
liim.  We  may  find  that  his  system  is  extravagant. 
All  that  1  urge,  is  that  we  do  not  assume  this  too 
soon. 

We  shall  now  have  to  follow  Fichte  in  his  attempt 
to  discover  whether,  in  addition  to  what  is  directly 
given,  there  is  anything  indirectly  given;  that  is, 
whether  we  are  to  accept  anything  as  existing  out- 
side the  circle  he  has  drawn;  namely,  the  circle  of 
self-consciousness.  If  there  be  any  such  reality,  we 
have  further  to  ask  what  it  is,  at  least  for  us,  and 
how  we  attain  to  the  knowledge  of  it.  Before  doing 
this,  we  must,  however,  examine  certain  criticisms 
which  have  been  made  upon  his  view  of  self-con- 
sciousness. The  criticism  upon  Fichte's  definition 
of  the  I,  is  best  made  by  Herbart.* 

We  must  remember  that  the  I  is  defined  as  that 
which  is  conscious  of  itself.  Whatever  is  conscious 
of  itself,  is  an  I.  Whatever  is  an  I,  has  self-con- 
sciousness. The  two  notions  perfectly  cover  each 
other.  In  this  definition,  Herbart  finds  two  funda- 
mental contradictions.  The  first  of  these  contradic- 
tions concerns  the  material  of  the  definition.  The 
second  concerns  its  form. 

*Hcrbart's  Sammtlichc  Werke,  V,  94,  ct  seq. 

0 


82  FICHTE's   science    of    K>fOVVLEDGE. 

The  first  of  these  contradictions  resolves  itself 
into  two.  The  I  is  that  which  is  given  in  self-con- 
sciousness; and  this  statement  is  considered  its  full 
definition.  But  to  this  definition  there  is  lacking 
both  subject  and  object;  thus  it  is  absolutely  with- 
out material.  We  have  words  which  signify  nothing. 
We  will  first  illustrate  the  aflirmation  that  the  defi- 
nition which  we  are  considering  lacks  an  object. 

Who  or  what  is  the  oltject  of  self-consciousness? 
The  answer  must  lie  in  tlie  proposition  itself.  The 
self  of  which  the  I  is  conscious  can  be  only  the  I  that 
is  conscious.  If  the  definition  is  a  perfect  one,  we 
can  substitute  for  its  terms  their  meaning.  For  the 
self,  we  can  substitute  the  definition  of  that  I  which 
is  the  self.  We  have,  then,  this  statement:  The  1 
is  that  which  is  conscious  of  that  which  is  self-con- 
scious. Tn  this,  recurs  the  word  self  again,  for  which 
we  may  substitute  its  definition  as  before.  This 
process  may  go  on  forever.  The  end  can  never  be 
reached;  thus  the  self  which  is  the  object  of  conscious- 
ness, cannot  be  reached.  The  pursuit  of  it  is  a  prog- 
ress into  the  infinite. 

We  fare  no  better  when  we  seek  a  real  subject 
for  the  proposition  which  defines  the  [  as  that  which 
is  conscious  of  itself.  As  soon  as  the  I  is  conscious 
of  itself,  that  of  which  it  is  conscious  has  become 
objective,  'i'he  I  which  is  conscious  is  subjective. 
It  lies  outside  of  that  of  which  it  is  conscious.  To 
become  conscious  of  this  I,  we  must  in  some  way  get 
behind  it.  We  must  be  conscious  of  that  which  is 
conscious.      Ikit  as   fast  as  the   I   gets  behind   itself. 


THE    I    AND   THK    ME.  83 

it  is  tlicre  as  an  1,  vvliicli  demanJs  a  renewal  of  the 
same  process.  The  search  for  tlie  Me,  the  object  of 
self-consciousness,  is,  as  we  have  found,  a  progress 
into  the  infinite;  the  search  for  the  I,  is  in  like  man- 
ner a  process  which  can  never  be  completed. 

We  have  thus  examined  the  criticism  which  Her- 
bart  made  of  Fichte's  definition  of  the  I,  considered  as 
to  its  material.  This  criticism  may  resolve  itself  into 
a  single  statement.  The  self  is  subject-object.  Both 
elements,  that  of  subjectivity  and  that  of  objectivity, 
belong  to  it.  In  the  definition,  we  attempt  to  sep- 
arate these.  We  seek  to  place  a  self  that  is  pure 
subject  over  against  a  self  that  is  pure  object.  The 
attempt  fails,  for  each  of  the  terms  breaks  up  into 
its  constituent  elements.  The  subject,  because  it 
is  the  self,  is  not  pure  subject,  but  subject-object. 
The  object  is  not  pure  object,  but  subject-object. 
We  try  to  eliminate  the  one  or  the  other  element 
from  each  of  the  terms,  but  as  fast  as  we  do  this, 
because  what  we  have  reached  is  still  a  self,  the 
same  problem  meets  us,  and  so  on  forever. 

It  may  be  said  of  this  criticism  that,  in  the  first 
place,  it  is  merely  formal.  It  is  a  criticism  that  can 
be  made  U[)on  almost  every  reflex  proposition.  We 
may  treat  in  like  manner  the  definition  of  the  arc  of 
a  circle.  This  we  may  define  to  be  a  curve  which  if 
sufficiently  prolonged  will  return  into  itself.  What 
is  the  self  into  whicli  the  curve  returns?  It  is  evi- 
dently the  returning  curve.  We  can  substitute 
this  full  expression  for  tlie  term  self  as  before.  We 
may  say  that  the  arc  of  a  circle  is  a  curve  which 


84         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

returns  into  a  curve  which  returns  into  itself.  We 
may  make  this  substitution  as  often  as  we  will.  It 
might  be  continued  forever.  Still,  the  definition  is 
a  good  one,  and,  when  taken  seriously,  has  a  clear 
meaning.  It  is  only  when  we  play  with  the  defi- 
nition that  it  becomes  obscure. 

Further,  it  may  be  said  that  the  criticism  de- 
scribes a  process  which  may  be  repeated  indefinitely, 
not  in  words  only,  but  in  fact.  We  may  rise  to 
the  consciousness  of  our  consciousness.  Indeed,  we 
actually  do  this.  What  we  call  consciousness  is 
as  really  self-consciousness  as  that  which  we  call 
self-consciousness,  for  we  can  be  conscious  of  noth- 
ing but  ourselves.  Self-consciousness  is  the  con- 
sciousness of  consciousness.  This  single  process  is, 
however,  sufficient;  a  repetition  of  it  adds  nothing  to 
it.  Such  repetition  will  become  mere  play.  It  is  so 
with  the  arc  of  the  circle.  We  may  draw  over  and 
over  again  the  line  that  returns  to  itself;  there  may 
be,  up  to  a  certain  point,  an  advantage  in  this  repe- 
tition; our  first  drawing  may  have  been  too  light, 
and  we  wish  to  deepen  it;  but,  after  a  certain  point, 
this  too  becomes  play.  Thus  the  reductio  ad  ab- 
siirdiim,  as  applied  to  the  definition,  expresses  simply 
the  reduction  to  an  absurdity  of  the  process  for 
which  the  definition  stands. 

The  fundamental  mistake  of  the  criticism  is  that 
it  treats  the  elements  of  the  self  as  if  they  were 
entities  which  could  be  separated  or  made  to  revolve 
about  one  another.  The  self  is  that  which  is  sub- 
ject-object.    The  fuller  definition  is  simply   an   e.\- 


THK    I    AND   TlIK    MK.  85 

pansion  of  this.  Tlie  I  wliicli  is  conscious  is  not 
something  over  against  the  Me  of  wliich  it  is  con- 
scious; the  two  are  one.  If  tlie  definition  seeins 
open  to  the  criticisms  above  cited,  it  is  because  it 
seeks  momentarily  and  formally  to  separate  ele- 
ments which  have  no  separate  existence.  The  two 
rest  eacli  in  the  other.  So  we  may  go  round  and 
round  a  circle,  seeking  to  find  some  point  of  rest. 
The  circle  remains  one  in  spite  of  our  revolution. 
No  matter  which  point  we  may  assume  to  be  the 
beginning,  it  is  at  once  beginning  and  end. 

The  second  criticism  made  by  Herbart  has  refer- 
ence to  the  form  of  the  definition.  'J'he  dt^fiiiition 
affirms  the  identity  of  subject  and  object;  but  sub- 
ject and  object  are  not  identical.  The  one  is  the 
absolute  opposite  of  the  other,  and  the  attempt 
to  present  them  as  one,  involves  an  absolute  con- 
tradiction. 

This  criticism,  and  the  fact  that  it  expresses 
what  to  many  may  seem  to  be  a  real  difficulty,  may 
serve  to  show  us  to  how  great  an  extent  we  ordi- 
narily live  outside  of  ourselves.  The  definition  given 
by  Fichte  expresses  a  fundamental  and  universal 
fact  of  consciousness.  We  are  at  each  moment  con- 
scious of  ourselves.  Some  would,  indeed,  make  this 
self-consciousness  an  act  of  memory.  We  are  con- 
scious not  of  ourselves  at  an}^  given  moment;  we 
only  recall  the  experience  of  the  preceding  moment. 
Thus,  consciousness  would  be  always  fiying  after 
that  of  which  it  is  conscious.  But  how  do  I  know 
that    this    moment   just    i-eceding   belonged   to   me, 


86         ficiite's  science  of  knowledge. 

tliat  its  experience  was  my  experience  ?  This 
knowledge  could  be  gained  only  by  taking  the  past 
into  my  present  ;  that  is,  by  holding  it  in  relation 
to  my  present.  Thns,  we  must  have  a  present  self- 
consciousness  to  make  the  consciousness  of  our  past 
possible.  Thus,  at  ever}^  moment  of  consciousness, 
we  have  this  unity  which  exists  in  and  through 
diversity.  This  kind  of  unit}'  is  present  to  all 
spiritual  activity.  The  statement  of  it  expresses 
the  very  law  of  thought.  We  can  think  of  no 
single  element  by  itself;  and  we  can  have  only 
one  thought  at  once.  Here  is  a  contradiction  that 
would  seem  to  make  thouglit  impossible.  We  cannot 
think  unity,  and  we  cannot  think  variety.  We  can 
think  both  together,  unity  in  variety  and  variety  in 
unity.  In  other  words,  each  thought  is  a  unit;  but 
it  is  a  complex  and  organic  unity.  It  contains  ele- 
ments distinct,  yet  united.  The  self  is  the  type  of 
this  organic  unity,  as  indeed  it  is  that  which  creates 
this  organic  unity  in  thought.  Notwithstanding  tlie 
fact  which  we  have  just  considered  is  one  so  uni- 
versally present  in  our  consciousness,  being  indeed 
our  consciousness  itself,  it  strikes  many  either  as 
something  marvelloiis  or  as  something  absurd.  We 
are  so  used  to  living  in  relation  to  material  facts, 
that  we  unconsciously  apply  to  spirit  the  laws  of 
matter.  IJecause  among  material  things  there  can 
be  no  division  witliout  fracture  and  separation, 
therefore  it  is  believed  that  division  in  the  spirit 
must  imply  fracture  and  separation. 

On    the    other    hand,    an    attempt    is    (•.)nstantly 


TIIK    1    AND    TlIK    M  K.  87 

made  to  eonstnict  llic  unity  of  consciousness  out 
of  tlie  successive  clenuints  of  consciousness,  even  out 
of  the  atoms  of  wliich  the  l)0(ly  is  composed.  We 
are  told  of  luind-sttilf.  Eacli  atom  of  which  the 
brain  consists  has,  it  is  claimed,  two  sides  —  the 
conscious  and  the  unconscious.  When  these  are 
properly  put  together,  the  unconscious  sides  unite 
to  form  the  brain,  while  the  conscious  sides  unite 
to  form  the  unity  of  consciousness.  Thus,  those 
who  think  that  a  contradiction  is  involved  in  the 
attempt  to  deduce  from  the  unity  of  consciousness 
the  elements  that  enter  into  it,  because  the  same 
thing  cannot  be  at  once  one  and  manifold,  yet  tind 
no  absui'dity  in  the  attempt  to  construct  the  unity 
of  consciousness  out  of  seiiii-material  i)articles.  The 
unity  of  consciousness  is  what  every  conscious  being 
must  admit.  It  is  easy  to  show  that  this  can  be 
the  result  of  no  com[)Osition.  Suppose  these  par- 
ticles of  mind-stufl['  united  so  as  to  produce  con- 
sciousness, where  would  the  consciousness  be  found? 
It  could  not  bo  apart  from  all.  It  must  be  in 
each.  We  can  only  think  of  this  crowd  of  par- 
ticles as  of  a  crowd  of  men  all  fired  by  a  like  pur- 
pose, each  heiglitening  tlic  enthusiasm  of  the  othei-, 
all  together  creating  an  intensity  of  enthusiasm 
of  which  no  one  would  bo  capable  alone;  l)ut  th(! 
enthusiasm  of  all  is  simi)ly  the  heightened  enthu- 
siasm of  each.  Tiiere  are  still  as  many  centres 
of  consciousness  as  there  are  individuals.  So  would 
it   be    with    these   mind-particles.      Consciousness   is 


88  FIGHTERS    SCIENCE   OF    KNOWLEDGE. 

one;  they  are  many;  and  each  can  have  only  its 
own  consciousness.* 

The  relation  of  consciousness  to  the  elements 
which  enter  into  it,  is  then  one  of  absolute  suprem- 
acy. It  is  not  their  product;  they  are  its  product. 
It  is,  indeed,  dependent  upon  them  indirectly. 
There  is  no  creator  without  a  creation;  but  the 
creation  is  directly  dependent  upon  the  creator; 
tlie  creator  only  indirectly  and  ideally  depend- 
ent upon  tiie  creation.  80  the  consciousness  is 
indirectly  dejjendent  upon  its  contents;  they  are 
directly  dependent  upon  it.  The  I  is  thus  inde- 
pendent and  active.  Its  very  nature  is  to  act.  It 
posits  itself,  and  thereby  creates  itself. 

We  have  thus  reached  the  Catefjory  of  Keality. 
Philosophers  have  often  raised  tlie  (juestion  as  to 
what  is  real.  This  is  indeed  the  fundamental  (jues- 
tion  of  philosophy.  Our  right  to  affirm  reality  can- 
not be  derived  from  anything  else.  All  else  must 
be  derived  from  it.  In  other  words,  what  we  rec- 
ognize as  the  ultimate  reality  cannot  be  shown 
to  be  si;ch  by  any  argument.  If  we  undertake 
to  prove  the  fact  of  this  ultimate  reality,  we  must 
appeal  to  sometliing  that  we  regard  as  more  real 
than  it.  Herbert  Spencer  recognizes  this  very 
clearly  in  his  affirmation  of  the  existence  of  some- 
thing real  outside  of  us.  This  we  cannot  reason 
to;  we  can  only  rea,son  from  it.  This  assumed 
reality  outside  ourselves  is,  however,  only  indirectly 
given.      The    reality   which    is    given   directl}^    and 

*  C'oiiii)arc'  Lot/.i-:  Mikrokosiiius,  1.  ITfl-V. 


TIIK    I    AND   TIIK    MR.  89 

thus  wliich  is  given  absoliitoly,  is  tliat  of  the  I. 
It  recognizes  itself  and  thereby  becomes  what  it 
is.  Because  it  is  what  it  is,  it  recognizes  itself. 
Whatever  other  reality  we  may  recognize,  it  must 
be  derived  from  the  I.  Of  whatever  we  can  say 
with  absolute  certainty,  80  surely  as  I  am,  this  is  — 
of  this  we  affirm  reality;  and  we  can  affirm  reality 
in  no  other  way.  We  have  also  reached  the  Prop- 
osition of  Identity:  A  is  A;  or,  the  I  is  the  I. 
Tills  Proposition  of  Identity  is  the  fundamental 
proposition  of  [)hilosophy.  It  is  unconditional,  l)oth 
as  to  form  and  as  to  content.  The  A  or  the  I  is 
posited  freely  and  absolutely.  It  is  dependent  on 
nothing  else.  The  positing  is  free  and  absolute. 
It  is  dependent  upon  nothing  else.  In  its  highest 
form,  it  is  self-affirmation,  which  is  the  one  funda- 
mental and  absolute  affirmation. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  NOT-ME  AND  ITS  RELATION  TO  THE  I. 

WE  liave  thus  examined  the  one  absolutely 
unconditioned  proposition  which  lies  at  the 
foundation  of  philosophy.  From  this  alone,  how- 
ever, no  system  of  philosophy  can  be  constructed. 
The  afRrniation  of  identity  is  complete  in  itself.  It 
leaves  no  opening  tlirough  which  new  thought  can 
be  developed.  No  movement  can  proceed  from  it. 
If  we  have  only  the  Proposition  of  Identity  we  must 
remain  fixed  at  it;  we  cannot  move  from  the  spot. 
There  is  needed,  tkerefore,  another  proposition  which, 
in  connection  with  the  Proposition  of  Identity,  shall 
give  the  possibility  for  the  development  of  thought 
and  the  impulse  to  this  development.  We  may  illus- 
trate this  by  the  logical  syllogism.  The  major  prop- 
osition is  a  simph;  affirmation  leading  to  nothing; 
with  the  minor  proposition  comes  the  possibility  of 
reasoning.  We  must  now  seek  that  second  proposi- 
tion which  we  need. 

It  will  be  obvious  that  this  second  proposition 
cannot,  like  the  first,  be  wiiolly  unconditioned.  It 
must  be  in  one  sense  dependent  upon  the  first.  If 
the  second  were  wholly  isolated  there  could  be  no 
connection  between  it  and  the  first,  and  thus  no 
development  of  thought  would  be  possible.  Tiie 
'.to 


THE  NOT-ME  AND   ITS   RELATION   TO  THE   I.      '.)! 

proposition,  A  is  A,  and  tlie  proposition,  B  is  li,  could 
stand  «ide  by  side  forever.  No  system  could  b(! 
evolved  out  of  the  two,  more  than  out  of  either  by 
itself.  On  the  other  hand,  this  second  proposition 
must  not  be  wholly  dependent  upon  the  first.  It 
must  introduce  some  new  element;  otherwise  we 
should  not  have  <(ot  beyond  the  first,  and  there  would 
l)e  no  possibility  of  proj^n-ess. 

We  started  with  the  proposition  of  affirmation, 
the  Proposition  of  Identity.  The  formula,  J}  is  B,  or, 
r  is  (\  would  be  only  different  expressions  for  the 
forniuhi,  A  is  .1.  If  our  second  proposition  is  to  be 
distiiK't  from  the  first,  it  must  then  be  not  a  jiroposi- 
tion  of  identity,  but  one  of  contradiction;  we  will 
then  lay  down  the  proposition,  Not-^1  is  not  A. 

This  proi)Osition  will  bo  accepted  as  absolutely  as 
the  first.  No  one  would  demand  a  proof  of  it  any 
more  than  of  that.  Suppose  that  a  proof  should  be 
demanded,  it  could  be  found  only  in  our  first  propo- 
sition. We  can  sa}'  that  according  to  this,  Not-vl  = 
Not-/l .  This,  however,  would  be  simply  another  form 
of  our  first  proposition.  The  negative  would  not  be 
proved;   it  would  simply  be  changed  to  a  positive. 

In  this  proposition,  a  Not-^1  is  not  affirmed. 
Whether  there  is  a  Not-yl  or  not,  is  left  wholly 
doubtful.  What  is  affirmed,  is  simply  the  fact  of  con- 
tradiction. This  remains  the  same,  whether  the  con- 
tradictory elements  do  or  do  not  exist. 

In  this  proposition  it  will  be  seen  that  the  form 
is  independent,  while  the  content  is  dei)eiident. 

By  the  statement  that  the  form  of  the  proposition 


92         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

is  independent,  is  meant  that  as  soon  as  the  two  ele- 
ments are  brought  face  to  face,  their  contradictory 
nature  is  at  once  recognized. 

So  far  as  the  dependence  of  the  material  or  con- 
tent is  concerned,  it  is  evident  that  there  must  be  an 
A  before  there  can  be  a  — ^,or  a  Not-^.  That  is,  a 
contradiction  implies  something  that  is  contradicted. 
The  Not-^1  might  very  well,  when  taken  by  itself,  be 
an  A'  or  a  Y;  but  it  is  the  recognition  of  the  A  as 
real  or  possible,  that  makes  of  it  a  Not-.l.  Further, 
it  is  obvious  that  within  itself  alone  does  the  I  find 
authority  to  pronounce  the  Proposition  of  Contradic- 
tion as  well  as  that  of  Identity.  It  will  be  noticed, 
thus,  that  the  identity  of  the  I  is  as  truly  involved 
in  the  proposition  of  negation  as  in  that  of  affirma- 
tion. Both  elements,  A  and  Not-yl,  must  be  found  by 
the  I  in  its  own  consciousness.  If  either  were  wholly 
in  another  sphere,  the  comparison  would  be  impossi- 
ble. 

Fichte  maintains  that,  in  order  to  furnish  a  basis 
for  the  absolute  certainty  of  the  Proposition  of  Nega- 
tion, there  must  underlie  it  a  universal  proposition 
like  that  which  underlies  the  Proposition  of  Identity. 
As  the  absolute  form  of  this  latter  is  the  affirmation 
of  itself  by  the  I,  so  the  absolute  form  of  the  nega- 
tive proposition  would  be  the  exclusion,  by  the  I,  of 
the  Not-me  from  itself.  As  the  only  absolute  affirma- 
tion is  that  made  b}'  the  I  of  itself,  so  the  only  abso- 
lute negation  would  be  that  of  what  is  opposed  to 
the  I. 

Tho  assumption  of  this  alisoluto  and  (uiginai  rec- 


THt:  NOT-ME  AN1>   ITS   KKLATION   TO  THE  I.       93 

ognition  of  tlie  Not-ine  is  based  by  Fichte  upon  tlio 
fact  that  in  no  ullior  way  would  the  recognition  of 
tlie  Not-ine  be  possible.  He  maintains  that  the  coni- 
inon  belief  as  to  the  origin  of  the  notion  of  the  Not- 
nie  is  wholly  false.  This  belief  is  that  we  find 
various  objects  which  we  recognize  as  not  ourselves, 
and  that  from  these  we  reach  the  general  idea  of 
externality.  This,  Fichte  argues,  cannot  be  the 
case,  for  in  every  object  of  each  perception  there 
must  be  something  which  marks  it  as  foreign  to 
ourselves;  therefore,  by  no  process  of  generalization 
can  the  idea  of  the  Not-me  be  reached.  This  idea 
forms  rather  the  basis  of  the  recognition  of  the 
objects  upon  which  the  generalization  is  assumed  to 
depend. 

It  will  be  seen  that  we  have  thus  deduced  the 
Category  of  Negation  and  the  Proposition  of  Contra- 
diction, as  v/e  have  before  deduced  the  Category  of 
Reality  and  the  Principle  of  Identity. 

We  have  so  far  reached  two  results.  The  first  is 
that  the  I  posits  itself,  or  the  Me;  the  second  is  that 
the  I  posits  the  Not-me.  These  two,  the  Me  and  the 
Not-iuKi,  are  absolutely  opposed  to  one  another;  and 
we  find  ourselves  involved  in  a  contradiction  that 
threatens  to  make  impossible  any  further  advance. 
So  far  as  the  Not-nie  is  posited,  the  Me  is  not  posited; 
for  the  Not-me  is  wholly  opposed  to  the  Me,  and  thus 
excludes  it.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Not-me  can  only 
be  posited  so  far  as  the  Me  is  also  posited;  for  the 
Not-me  is  meaningless  and  imi)ossible  except  so  far 
as  there  is  a  Me  to  which  it  may  be  opposed.     From 


94         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

the  one  point  of  view,  then,  the  Not-nie  excludes  the 
Me;  from  the  other,  it  requires  the  Me.  We  have 
thus  two  propositions  that  are  mutually  contradic- 
tory. They  are,  however,  both  involved  in  our 
second  proposition;  namely,  that  the  I  posits  the  Not- 
ine.  They  are  both  involved  in  this,  for  the  I,  by 
its  very  nature,  assumes  its  own  reality.  The  I  has 
no  existence  except  so  far  as  it  posits  itself.  To  say 
that  the  I  posits  the  Not-me,  is,  then,  eipiivalent  to 
saying  that  the  I  posits  both  the  Me  and  the  Not-me. 
Therefore,  this  proposition  contradicts  itself,  and 
thus  is  its  own  refutation.  •  iJut  it  refutes  itself 
only  so  far  as  a  part  of  itself  has  validity  against 
the  other  part. 

The  first  proposition  involves  similar  contradic- 
tions. The  I  in  alhrming  itself  alUrins  all  that  is 
posited  in  itself.  ]3ut  our  second  proposition  is  pos- 
ited in  the  I,  and  since  it  has  proved  its  own  destruc- 
tion, it  is  not  posited  in  the  I,  therefore  the  identity 
of  the  I  is  broken  up,  and  the  proposition  that  aflirmed 
it  is  proved  false.  But  our  first  proposition  must 
be  true.  The  unity  of  consciousness  is  involved  in  it, 
and  the  unity  of  consciousness,  which  is  our  start- 
ing point,  must  be  recognized  and  preserved  through 
our  whole  discussion. 

Our  problem,  then,  is  to  unite  elements  that  are 
absolutely  opposed.  To  posit  the  Me  and  the  Not-me, 
is  like  positing  X  and  — .Y,  the  result  of  which  would 
be  zero.  The  result,  however,  is  not  zero.  Each 
ste[)  of  our  progress  has  Ijecn  taken  carcl'ully;  the 
results  are  absolutely   founded.     We   can  give   up 


THK   NUT-MK  AJS'l)   ITS  RELATION   TO  TIIK  I.       95 

nothing.  We  must  reconcile  tlie  elements  as  best 
we  can. 

We  can  find  the  solution  of  the  problem  by  no 
analysis.  We  must  proceed  by  way  of  experi- 
ment; that  is,  we  must  take  some  method,  such  as 
seems  best  adapted  to  the  purpose,  and  ti-y  whether 
it  will  or  will  not  serve  our  n(;ed.  The  method  that 
most  naturally  occurs  to  us  is  to  qualify  the  antag- 
onism, and  to  nuike  of  it  a  partial  contradiction. 
The  one  element  shall  not  wholly  cancel  the  other; 
it  shall  only  limit  it.  The  Me,  which  was  at  first 
regarded  as  absolute  and  co-extensive  with  the  ab- 
solute subject,  shall  be  limited  by  the  Not-me;  and 
the  Not-me  shall  be  limited  by  the  Me.  But  the  idea 
of  limitation  implies  divisibility.  It  does  not  imply 
a  definite  quantity,  but  the  capacity  for  a  definite 
quantity.  Divisibility,  then,  is  the  means  by  which 
our  problem  shall  be  solved  and  th<!  contradictories 
reconciled.  The  Me  and  the  Not- me  are  each  re- 
garded as  divisible.  We  thus  reach  our  third  funda- 
mental proposition;  namely,  A  divisible  Not-me  is 
posited  over  against  a  divisible  Me. 

Through  this  process  does  each  element  become 
something.  The  absolute  I  is  not  anything.  It  has 
and  can  have  no  predicate.  To  say  of  an  unknown 
substance  that  it  is,  is  to  say  nothing.  We  need  to 
say  what  it  is,  to  apply  to  it  predicates.  A  predicate, 
however,  imi)lies  a  distinguishing,  and  thus  a  limit- 
ing. Through  the  process  which  we  have  followed, 
we  have  souiething  definite.  I3y  means  of  it,  there 
comes   into  consciousness  all   reality,  the   reality  of 


96         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

the  Me  and  the  reality  of  the  Not-me.  Whatever 
reality  does  not  pertain  to  the  one,  does  pertain  to 
the  other.  Besides  the  Me  and  the  Not-me  there  is 
nothing. 

We  just  deduced  the  Category  of  Reality,  next  that 
of  Negation,  and  have  now  deduced  that  of  Limita- 
tion. 

These  three  propositions  are  so  fundamental  to 
the  system  of  Fichte,  that  it  may  be  well  to  bring 
them  together,  and  state  them  in  a  somewhat  clearer 
form. 

The  first  is  this:  The  I  posits  itself;  or,  in  other 
words:  The  I  posits  Hie  Me.  This  jiroposition  is  ab- 
solute, both  as  regards  its  form  and  iL-  content. 

The  second  proposition  is  this:  Thr  I  posits  the 
Not-me.  This  proposition  is  limited  as  to  its  con- 
tent, but  absolute  as  to  its  form. 

The  third  proposition,  in  its  most  abstract  form,  is 
this:  The  I  posits  the  Me  and  the  Not-iiie  as  limit  in;/ 
one  another.  This  last  proposition  is  determined,  so 
far  as  its  form  is  concerned.  This  means  that  the 
nature  of  its  form  was  forced  upon  it  by  the  nature 
of  the  problem  of  which  it  is  the  solution.  In  its 
content,  it  is  absolute  and  free,  because  the  solution 
of  the  problem  is  the  result  of  an  original  and  inde- 
pendent judgment. 

Perhaps,  before  going  farther,  we  should  make 
perfectly  clear  the  meaning  of  these  propositions. 
Their  meaning  is  so  simple  as  hardly  to  need  expla- 
nation, were  it  not  that  their  very  simplicity  is  mis- 
leading.    The  danger,  as  Fichte  himself  says,  is  not 


THE  NOT-MK  AND  ITS   RELATION  TO  THE   I.      07 

that  the  reader  shall  not  think  in  regard  to  these 
propositions  tliat  which  they  really  mean,  but  that 
he  shall  think  a  great  deal  that  is  foreign  to  this 
meaning.  We  have  in  these  propositions  simply  an 
analysis  of  the  facts  of  consciousness;  of  conscious- 
ness, not  as  it  exists  in  the  mind  of  the  philosopher 
alone,  but  a.s  it  is  universal,  as  it  is  found  even  in  the 
mind  of  the  siin[)lest  and  the  most  ignorant.  Yet 
these  propositions  have  been  misunderstood  even  by 
careful  students,  as  well  as  by  that  general  public 
where  misunderstanding  might  be  expected. 

Perhaps  the  first  proposition  has  been  sufficiently 
explained.  That  the  I  affirms  itself,  is  simply  the 
central  fact  of  all  self-consciousness.  That  it  there- 
by creates  itself,  that  it  thereby  constitutes  itself 
an  I,  is  a  simple  truism  growing  out  of  our  ordinary 
definition  of  the  I;  namely,  that  it  is  the  self-con- 
scious subject. 

The  second  proposition  has  caused  the  most  serious 
misunderstanding.  To  say  that  the  I  posits  the  Not- 
me,  has  been  understood  to  mean  that  the  I  creates 
its  own  world.  By  the  Not-me  has  been  understood 
the  realities  of  the  universe;  and  to  make  these 
dependent  upon  any  individual  consciousness  has 
seemed  absurd,  if  not  impious.  Kuno  Fischer  has 
well  stated  these  misunderstandings,  and  has  shown 
how  foolish  and  baseless  they  are.  That  the  Not-me, 
as  such,  is  dependent  upon  the  I  is,  he  urges,  a 
simple  truism.  The  negative,  as  such,  always 
depends  upon  the  positive.  The  inorganic  world,  as 
such,  depends  upon  the  organic,  that  is,  the  inor- 
7 


98         fichte's  science  oe  knowledge. 

ganic  world  is  only  sucli  in  contrast  with  the  organic. 
If  there  were  no  organs,  real  or  imagined,  the  world 
might  consist  of  stones  and  water,  or  whatever  other 
elements  might  be  blended  with  these,  but  the 
word  inorganic  would  never  be  applied  to  it. 
Fischer  goes  a  step  further.  He  shows  that  the 
world  of  objects,  as  such,  is  dependent  upon  the  I. 
By  objects  we  do  not  mean  things  in  themselves; 
we  mean  things  as  they  appear  to  us.  Without  the 
sight,  there  would  be  no  color;  without  the  ear,  no 
sound;  without  the  sense  of  feeling,  that  which  we 
know  as  resistance  would  not  exist  for  us;  yet  out 
of  these  elements  is  formed  our  whole  world  of  ob- 
jects,—  trees  and  rocks,  or  whatever  else  goes  to  the 
making  up  of  the  world  in  which  we  have  our  con- 
scious being.  By  such  reasoning  does  Fischer  seek 
to  make  clear  the  meaning  of  Fichte's  fundamen- 
tal propositions,  or  at  least  to  take  away  their 
apparent  a.bsurdity.*  Fischer,  however,  though  in 
general  so  competent  an  interpreter  of  Ficlite,  does 
not  in  this  discussion  bring  out  the  real  siiii[)licity 
of  the  propositions  under  consideration.  I  have 
referred  to  his  exposition  rather  to  complete  the  list 
of  possible  misunderstandings  than  as  in  any  sort  an 
explanation. 

What  Fischer  says,  is  strictly  in  accordance  with 
the  general  thought  of  Fichte,  but  it  is  not  the 
thought  that  Fichte  expresses  in  the  proposition 
under  discussion.  We  may  even  find  that  Fichte 
teaches  that,  in  the  phrase  used  above,  the  I  does 

♦Fischer:  Gcschichte  dur  Neucu  PhilobOphie,  Second  Edition,  V, 438. 


THE  NOT- ME  AND  ITS  RELATION  TO  THE   I.       09 

create  its  own  world.  This  is  not,  however,  what  he 
teaches  here.  It  must  he  repeated  that  by  the 
word,  posit,  as  here  used,  is  meant  simply  to  recog- 
nize or  assume.  To  say  that  the  I  i)osits  the  Me, 
is  simply  to  affirm  the  fact  of  self-consciousness.  To 
say  that  the  T  posits  the  Not-me,  is  simply  to  say  that 
we  recognize  a  world  that  is  not  ourselves.  To  say 
that  the  T  posits  the  Me  and  the  Not-me  as  mutually 
determining  or  limiting  one  another,  is  simply  to 
say  that  we  i)osit  ourselves,  or  seem  to  find  ourselves, 
in  a  world  in  which  we  have  power  to  affect  our 
environment,  and  in  which  our  environment  affects 
us.  To  understand  these  propositions,  is  not  needed 
the  analysis  of  the  psychologist.  We  have  presented 
in  them  that  which  is  the  content  of  the  consciousness 
of  the  peasant  and  i)hilosopher  alike.  The  only  fear 
that  one  can  have  in  regard  to  them,  when  rightly 
understood,  is,  that  they  shall  appear  truisms  too 
familiar  for  formal  utterance.  We  must  bear  in 
mind,  however,  the  results  that  have  already  been 
gained  by  the  analysis,  and  must  remember,  also, 
that  the  elaboration  of  the  system  of  Fichte,  the  real 
sweep  of  his  method,  has  not  yet  been  reached. 
When  we  come  to  analyze  still  further  these  proposi- 
tions, it  will  be  found  that,  however  simple  they  may 
appear,  they  contain  contradictions  that  may  chal- 
lenge, if  they  do  not  set  at  naught,  our  profoundest 
thought. 

One  other  point  needs  explanation.  The  infinite 
I  is  not  infrequently  spoken  of  by  Fichte,  in  coli- 
trast  with   the  finite  or  the  limited   I.     This  term, 


100        fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

the  infinite  I,  lias  furnished  matter  for  umch  mis- 
understanding. The  term  is  so  large  and  imposing 
that  it  has  seemed  to  many  that  it  must  represent 
that  absolute  being  in  which  all  finite  sjiirits  are 
contained.  Here,  however,  we  have  to  do  simply 
with  the  results  of  the  analysis  of  self-consciousness. 
The  meaning  of  the  words,  the  infinite  I.  can,  per- 
haps, be  best  illustrated  by  some  proposition  of 
which  I  is  the  subject.  We  will  take  the  propo- 
sition: I  am  bound  by  these  chains.  There  is  im- 
plied by  this  the  recognition,  by  the  speaker,  of  the 
fact  that,  if  he  were  not  bound  by  the  chains,  he 
would  be  free;  as  well  as  of  the  fact  that  he  is 
actually  bound.  He  could  not  be  bound,  in  the 
sense  in  which  he  uses  the  term,  if,  unbound,  he 
would  not  be  free.  The  potentially  free  and  the 
actually  bound  I  are  both  recognized  by  the  propo- 
sition; and  both  are  equally  necessary  for  its  mean- 
ing. Similar  elements  are  assumed  in  every  act  of 
consciousness.  All  states  of  consciousness  iniply 
limit.  It  matters  not  whether  the  state  of  con- 
sciousness be  pleasant  or  disagreeable,  voluntary 
or  involuntary,  this  state  implies  that  I  am  in  some 
way  acted  upon,  or  determined  by  something  for- 
eign to  myself.  The  self  is  divided;  a  part  of  it 
is  excluded  and  is  replaced  by  the  object  of  con- 
sciousness. In  this,  there  is  implied  the  recognition 
of  a  self  that,  but  for  this,  or  some  other  limitation, 
would  be  unlimited.*  This  is  what  Fichte  means 
by  the  infinite  self  as  contrasted  with  the  self  that 

*  Sammtlichc  Wcrke,  ],  144. 


THE  NOT-MK   AND  ITS  RELATION"  TO  THE  T.    101 

recognizes  itself"  as  limited  or  detorniined  by  some 
foreiifn  element.  This  infinite  self  does,  however, 
sometimes  affirm  itself  as  unlimited.  When  it  is 
conscious  of  freedom,  when  it  recognizes  or  utters 
the  demands  of  the  moral  law,  it  then  acts  from 
itself  alone.  It  utters  not  what  it  has  received 
from  without,  but  that  which  it  has  found  within 
itself. 

The    infinite    I    will    be    the  subject   ®f    further 
discussion  as  we  advance. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    METHOD    OF    FICHTE,    AS    SUGGESTED    BY 
THE  PRINCIPLES  ALREADY  LAID  I)O^YN. 

THE  propositions  which  we  have  now  studied, 
form  the  basis  of  the  system  of  Fichte.  Their 
relation  to  one  another  suggests  his  method.  To 
understand  this  method  fully,  we  must  for  a  moment 
go  behind  these,  and  consider  some  facts  in  regard 
to  propositions  in  general. 

When  we  look  closely  at  the  nature  of  proposi- 
tions, we  find  that  every  proposition  of  resemblance 
implies  a  diiFerence;  and  every  proposition  of  differ- 
ence, a  resemblance.  If  we  say  that  A'  is  Y,  we  im- 
ply that  in  some  points  it  is  not  V.  If  we  say  that 
A"  is  like  Y,  we  imply  that  in  some  respects  it  is  dif- 
ferent. So  far  as  the  first  of  these  propositions  is 
concerned,  if  the  statement,  A'  is  Y,  were  absolutely 
true,  it  would  not  be  made.  We  should  not  have 
X  and  V  at  all.  \Ye  should  have  either  A' or  }'. 
Subject  and  i)redicate  would  be  absolutely  fused  to- 
gether, and  the  proposition  would  cease  to  exist. 
This  is  still  more  evid(mt  in  I'egard  to  llie  other 
})roposiiion.  A'  is  like  }\  This  implies  thai  A'  is  not 
Y,  otherwise  the  two  would  not  be  c()ini)ared.  There 
must,  then,  be  points  of  difference  by  which  alone  the 


THK    METHOD    OF    FICIITE.  103 

resemblance  can  be  made  possible.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  is  equally  true  that  all  statements  of  dif- 
ference imply  a  resemblance.  No  one  would  be  so 
foolish  as  to  deny  what  no  one  could  have  the  slight- 
est temptation  to  affirm.  If  I  say,  then,  that  A'  is 
not  y,  T  imply  that  there  are  certain  elements  in 
A',  by  which,  if  they  were  iaken  alone,  it  might  be 
confounded  with  }'.  Of  course  the  elements  of 
resemblance  may  be  comparatively  few,  but  some- 
thing, in  this  case,  must  have  occurred  to  bring 
them  into  prominence.  If  one  says,  for  instance, 
that  a  tree  is  not  a  house,  it  must  be  because  a  com- 
parison has  been  in  some  way  suggested.  Perhaps 
it  had  been  proposed  to  pass  the  night  in  the  tree, 
or  under  it.  This  fact,  that  all  resemblance  implies 
a  difference,  and  all  difference  a  resemblance  may  be 
illustrated  by  almost  any  book  of  riddles.  The  same 
sort  of  conundrum  is  sometimes  proposed  positively, 
and  sometimes  negativel}'.  It  is  largely  a  matter  of 
accident  whether  it  be  in  the  form,  Why  is  X  like 
Y,  or.  How  does  A'  differ  from  Y  ? 

Every  analysis,  then,  presupposes  a  synthesis,  and 
every  synthesis  presupposes  an  analysis.  When  we 
sa}'  that  A'  is  Y,  we  express  an  analysis,  or  imply 
that  such  an  analysis  has  been  made.  We  recognize 
the  fact  that  A' and  Fhave  already  been  distinguished 
from  each  other.  If  we  say  A'  is  not  Y,  we  imply 
a  previous  synthesis  by  which  they  had  been  brought 
together.  The  process  of  thought  consists  largely  in 
the  alternate  formation  of  analyses  and  syntheses. 
Each  at  once  presupposes  and  demands  its  opposite. 


104       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

This  may  be  very  well  illustrated  by  the  ordinary 
processes  of  logic.  In  this  way  the  proposition 
demands  the  syllogism ;  and  one  syllogism  leads  to 
another.  We  say,  for  instance,  A  is  Z.  The  state- 
ment involves  a  contradiction;  A  is  evidently  not  Z. 
Indeed,  the  recognition  of  this  difference  forms  our 
starting  point.  We  need  to  justify  our  affirmation 
by  a  synthesis.  We  find  some  element,  Y,  which 
is  common  to  both.  This  furnishes  the  needed  syn- 
thesis. A  is  Y,  and  Y  is  Z ;  thus,  A  is  Z.  But 
another  analysis  is  forced  upon  us.  A  and  Y  are 
not  absolutely  one.  The}'  involve  points  of  differ- 
ence. A  new  synthesis  is  forced  upon  us.  We  find 
the  element,  X,  which  is  common  to  both.  The  pro- 
cess goes  on  till  we  reach  the  last  synthesis  possible. 
We  had  found  C  to  be  a  basis  for  a  synthesis 
between  A  and  D.  A  and  C  we  unite  by  means 
of  B.  At  last  we  face  the  proposition,  A  is  B.  A 
further  synthesis  is  demanded,  but  we  cannot  make 
it.  We  have  no  means  left.  We  must  leave  the 
matter  to  rest  upon  absolute  affirmation,  or  upon 
some  intuitive  perception. 

I  have  thus  indicated  the  method  that  Fichte 
follows  in  this  first  statement  of  his  pliiloso[)hy.  In 
each  proposition,  analysis  finds  elements  of  contra- 
diction. These  are  united  by  a  synthesis.  They 
are,  however,  only  partially  united.  Extremes  still 
remain  that  are  not  brought  together.  Tlie  process 
continues  as  far  as  it  can  be  carried.  A  funda- 
mental contradiction  at  last  remains  unsolved.  Ap- 
peal   is    finally    made   to   the   practical    reason,  that 


THE    METHOD    OF    FICIITE.  105 

cuts  the  knot    which   the  theoretical   reason   could 
not  untie. 

But  analysis  —  or  what  may  perhaps  better  be 
called  antithesis  —  and  synthesis  presuppose  a  thesis. 
Antithetical  and  syntiietical  projiositions  presuppose 
what  may  best  be  called  "  thetical "  i)ropositions. 
In  synthesis,  objects  that  are  distinct  are  united  in 
some  higher  conception,  as  gold  and  silver  in  that 
of  metal;  thus,  a  definition  involves  a  statement 
of  both  the  generic  and  the  specific  characteristics. 
In  the  tlietic  proposition,  all  this  is  difi^"erent.  Of 
this  the  affirmation  of  itself  by  the  I  is  an  example. 
This  is  made  absolutely.  The  I  and  the  Not-me 
can  be  united  by  no  synthesis  in  a  higher  concep- 
tion. When  they  are  to  be  united,  the  I  is  reduced 
to  a  lower  conception  —  that  of  divisibility.  The 
two  are  contrasted  under  the  general  idea  of  di- 
visibility. Here  is  no  going  up,  as  by  every  syn- 
thesis; but  there  is  a  going  down.  The  absolute 
I  is  indivisible,  and  nothing  can  be  compared  with 
it.  We  thus  distinguish  propositions  of  which  the 
subject  is  the  divisible  I,  from  those  in  which  the 
subject  is  the  absolute  T.  Whatever  proposition 
belongs  to  the  absolute  positing  of  the  1,  is  of  this 
sort,  even  when  ilie  grammatical  subject  is  differ- 
ent. Thus  the  proi)Osition,  Man  is  Free,  is  a  thetic 
proposition.  Tt  is  the  result  of  no  synthesis.  We 
do  not  examine  the  characteristics  of  different 
classes  of  beings  —  one  consisting  of  the  free,  and 
the  otluM-  of  those  that  are  not  free  —  and  decide 
that    man    belongs   to   the    former    class.     There    is 


106        fichte's  science  of  knowledge, 

no  such  class  to  be  found.  We  do  not  separate  man 
negatively  from  the  creatures  of  nature  that  are  not 
free,  which  would  imply  that  he  and  they  were 
united  in  some  higher  generalization.  Man,  so  far 
as  he  is  free — so  far  as  he  is  absolute  subject  — 
has  nothing  in  common  with  these  creatures  of 
nature.*  The  very  idea  of  freedom,  as  will  be  seen 
later,  involves  a  contradiction.  What  it  is,  cannot 
be  learned  by  experience,  for  absolute  freedom  is  a 
goal  rather  than  a  fact  —  a  goal  which  we  may  for- 
ever approach,  but  which  we  maj'  never  reach.  It 
is  a  goal  which  the  spirit  has  set  for  itself.  In  like 
manner,  propositions  that  affirm  what  may  be  called 
ideal  relations  are  to  be  classed  as  thetic.  Goodness 
and  beauty  in  their  perfection,  and  thus  in  their  full 
reality,  we  have  never  seen.  The  ideas  of  good- 
ness and  beauty  can  thus  be  the  result  of  no  com- 
parison and  generalization.  Every  such  idea  is 
an  ideal.  It  is  something  to  be  attained.  It  is  a 
goal,  rather  than  a  starting  point. 

Our  three  propositions  have  found,  then,  each  its 
appropriate  designation.  By  the  first,  the  I  affirms 
itself.  This  is  a  thetic  proposition.  By  the  second, 
it  posits  the  Not-me.  This  is  an  antithetic  projiosi- 
tion.  In  the  third,  it  posits  the  ^le  and  the  Xot-me 
as  mutually  limiting  or  determining  one  another. 
This  is  a  synthetic  proposition. 

As  has  been  already  intimated,  the  movement  of 
the  system  will  consist  in  a  series  of  antitheses  and 
syntheses;  while  the  thetic  proposition,  the  absolute 

*  Siimititliche  Wci-kc,  I,  117. 


THE    MKTHOD    OF    FKIITE.  107 

assertion  of  itself  by  the  I,  furnislies  tlie  startin<f 

point,  the  impulse  of   the   niovoiiient,  and  also  the 
£roal  toward  which  the  whole  tend.s. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
THE  ANTINOMY  OF  THE  NOT-ME. 

WE  have  reached,  it  will  be  remembered,  this 
proposition:  The  I  posits  the  Me  and  the  Not- 
me  as  determining  each  the  other. 

This  involves  two  distinct  propositions,  namely: 

I.  The  I  posits  the  Me  as  determining  the  Not- 
me. 

II.  The  I  posits  the  Not-me  as  determining  the 
Me. 

These  propositions,  which,  as  we  have  just  seen, 
express  simply  the  most  ordinary  facts  of  conscious- 
ness, furnish  the  foundation  of  tlie  whole  system 
which  we  are  studying. 

The  first  furnishes  the  foundation  for  the  practi- 
cal part  of  the  system.  No  use  can  at  present  be 
made  of  it.  We  do  not  yet  know  whether  it  is  or  is 
not  absolutely  true.  It  may  be  that  we  shall  find 
the  Not-me  to  be  a  limitation  which  the  I  puts  upon 
itself.  When  we  have  found  the  reality  of  the  Not- 
me,  if  indeed  we  find  such  reality,  we  can  make  use 
of  this  proposition.    Till  then,  it  must  be  left  unused. 

We  turn,  then,  to  the  second  proi)Osition,  namely: 
The  I  posits  the  Me  as  determined  l)y  the  Not-me. 
This  forms  the  basis  of  the  theoretical  ])art  of  the 
system,  and  we  can  make  use  of  it  at  once.* 

*  Sainmtlirhc  Wcrko,  I,  lati. 
108 


THE    ANTINOMY    OF    THE    NOT-ME.  100 

The  I  posits  the  Me  as  determined,  or  limited,  by 
the  Not-me.  This  is  the  pro[)Osition  from  which  we 
must  now  take  our  start.  I)oin«,'  this,  we  must  keep 
in  mind  the  method  which  is  followed  throughout 
by  the  system  that  we  are  studying.  The  method  is 
to  discover  by  analysis  the  contradictions  that  are 
involved  in  any  given  proposition,  and  then  to  seek 
to  reconcile  these  by  a  .synthesis. 

The  proposition  under  consideration  involves  con- 
tradictions. These  may  become  apparent  througii  a 
difference  in  emphasis.  We  may  say:  The  I  posits  the 
Me,  as  (Icti'rmint'd  hi/  the  Not-iw;  or  we  may  say: 
The  I  posits  the  Me  as  determined  by  the  Not-me. 

The  first  of  these  statements  affirms  that  the  Me 
is  limited  by  something  that  is  not  itself.  'JMie  I 
appears  to  be  not  all;  but  to  be  conditioned  by  that 
which  is  external. 

The  second  form  of  emphasis  affirms  the  absolute- 
ness of  the  I.  It  posits  the  Me  as  determined  by  the 
Not-me;  and  whatever  the  I  posits,  it  posits  in  its 
own  consciousness.  In  consciousness,  the  I  is  the 
only  actor.  As  we  have  seen,  it  is  the  result  of  its 
own  positing  of  itself.  It  is  by  self-consciousness 
that  it  becomes  an  I.  Whatever  is  found  in  con- 
sciousness is  thus  the  result  of  its  activity.  To  say, 
therefore,  that  flie  I  posits  the  Me  as  determined  by 
the  Not-me,  is  simply  to  say  that  the  I  determines 
itself. 

We  have  thus  deduced  from  the  general  proposi- 
tion, The  I  posits  itself  as  determined  b}-  the  Not- 
me,  these  two  subordinate  propositions,  namely: 


110       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

The  Not-ine  determines  the  Me. 

The  I  determines  itself. 

From  one  of  tliese,  as  we  sliall  find,  is  developed 
the  Category  of  Causality;  and  from  the  other,  that  of 
Substantial! t}'.  These  two  Categories,  at  first,  will 
seem  to  be  wholly  antithetical  to  one  another,  and 
will  represent  the  elements  of  the  antinomy  con- 
tained in  our  general  proposition. 

It  may  now  be  well  to  translate  the  terms  of  this 
antinomy  into  the  language  of  our  common  life,  and 
thus  to  show  that  they  involve  no  nierel}'  seeming 
difficulty  artfully  conjured  up  by  a  process  of  dialec- 
tics in  order  that  it  may  be  removed  by  another  pro- 
cess, but  a  difficulty  that  we  must  all  feel  to  be  in- 
volved in  every  act  of  consciousness.  I  find  myself 
in  a  world  of  objects,  Ijy  many  of  which  I  am  affected. 
Some  limit  me  painfully,  invading  my  life  or  check- 
ing my  activities.  Others  afiect  me  pleasantly;  but 
they  affect  me.  none  the  less.  At  every  moment,  my 
inner  life  is  determined  by  them.  I  have  no  doubt 
of  their  reality.  Never,  for  a  moment,  can  I  separate 
myself  from  tliem.  so  far  as  my  consciousness  is  con- 
cerned. I  seem  to  be  conscious  of  them  as  I  am  con- 
scious of  myself.  When,  however,  1  think  carefully 
of  the  matter,  this  very  fact  that  I  seem  to  be  con- 
scious of  them  suggests  a  grave  difficulty.  J  can 
really  be  conscious  only  of  myself.  I  can  prove  that 
the  elements  that  make  up  this  world  of  objects  are 
thoughts  and  sensations  of  my  own.  I  cannot  escape 
from  the  world  of  my  own  consciousness.  Yet,  no 
matter  how  clearly   I  nuiy  prove  this,  the  world  of 


THK    ANTINOMY    OF   TFIK    NOT-MK,  111 

objects  remains,  for  me,  a  world  that  is  foreign  to 
myself.  I  can  prove  it  to  be  the  Me;  I  can  not  think 
of  it  except  as  the  Not-me.  To  put  llie  dilHculty 
into  a  somewhat  diti'orent  form:  If  tliese  objects  are 
outside  of  my  consciousness  how  did  they  ever  get 
into  it?  or,  if  they  are  in  my  consciousness,  how  did 
they  ever  get  out  of  it?  We  have,  here,  the  problem, 
the  solution  of  which  Ficlite  is  to  attempt;  and  at 
this  point  his  system  properly  begins. 

We  have  found,  in  tlie  proposition  with  which  we 
started,  a  contradiction  that  seems  absolute.  The 
proposition  seems,  thus,  to  cancel  itself  by  its  very 
affirmation.  It  cannot,  however,  cancel  itself,  for  it 
involves  the  unity  of  consciousness,  which  is  the  very 
basis  of  our  investigation.  There  must  be  some  ele- 
ment which  shall  make  a  reconciliation  possible. 

The  problem  to  be  solved  is  this:  How  does  it 
happen  that  the  I  feels  itself  limited  by  the  ob- 
jects that  fill  its  consciousness,  while  it  is  itself 
the  creator  of  them?  The  state  of  things  here 
contemplated  may  be  illustrated  by  the  conscious- 
ness that  we  have  in  a  dream.  Indeed,  the  thought 
of  the  dream  must  be,  all  along,  our  standard,  for 
we  have  not  as  yet  found  any  ground  of  differ- 
ence between  our  waking  state  and  a  dream.  In 
a  dream  the  objects  of  consciousness  are  confessedly 
the  creation  of  the  I,  yet  even  in  the  dream  the 
I  feels  itself  limited  by  them. 

Fichte  bases  his  discussion  of  the  matter  upon 
the  thought  of  what  he  calls  the  sum  of   reality.* 

*  Sauimtliche  Wcrke,  I,  129. 


112       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

Reality  is  neither  an  infinite  nor  an  indefinite 
amount.  Realit\',  as  it  exists  for  any  one  individual, 
is  the  entire  content  of  his  consciousness  —  the  ob- 
ject which  stands  over  against  tlie  subject.  If  we 
could  conceive  of  self-consciousness,  without  an}^ 
object  save  the  Me,  the  distinction  between  subject 
and  object  would  still  exist.  The  Me,  in  this  case, 
would  be  all  the  reality  that  is  recognized.  It 
would,  for  the  T,  be  the  only  reality.  If  the  Not-nie 
is  recognized,  as  well  as  the  Me,  the  content  of 
consciousness  would  not  be  thereby  extended.  This 
content  is  always  quantitively  the  same.  When  the 
Not-me  is  seen  to  exist  by  the  side  of  the  Me,  it  does 
not  manifest  itself  as  something  added  to  the  Me. 
The  place  that  it  occupies  is  taken  from  that  which 
the  Me  would  have  occupied  had  it  Ijeen  alone. 
Thus,  the  Me  is  actually  limited  by  tlie  Not-me; 
and  this  is  none  the  less  true  because  the  Xot-mo 
is  itself  the  product  of  the  I.  It  is,  of  course,  equally 
true  that  whatever  reality  is  ascribed  to  tlie  Me 
is  taken  from  the  Not-me.  Tlie  two  elements  are 
thus  mutually  determined. 

The  definiteness  of  the  content  of  consciousness, 
and  thus  of  reality,  is. a  fundamental  thought  with 
Fichte,  and  should  be  distinctly  recognized.  One  may, 
by  a  very  imperfect  illustration,  comj)are  the  field 
of  consciousness  to  the  illuminated  circle  cast  l)y  a 
magic  lantern  upon  a  screen.  It  has  its  definite  size, 
and  thus  its  possible  content.  This  circle  is  always 
filled,  either  by  the  pure  light,  or  the  object  which 
may  be   represented;   or  they   may  divide   the  field 


THE   ANTINOMY    OF   THE    NOT-ME.  113 

between  them.  So  much  of  the  space  as  is  occupied 
by  the  object,  is  held  exclusively  by  it;  and  from  this 
the  pure  light  is  excluded.  On  the  other  hand,  so 
far  as  the  pure  light  fills  the  field,  the  object  is 
excluded.  Perhaps  another  illustration  may  make 
a  part  of  the  statement  more  clear.  Suppose,  in 
the  first  place,  that  A  has  at  his  command  an 
amount  of  money  practically  unlimited.  He  gives 
•four  thousand  dollars  to  B,  and  ap[)ropriates  four 
thousand  dollars  to  his  own  use.  In  both  these 
acts,  he  proceeds  with  absolute  freedom;  neither  act 
is  dependent  uiion  the  other.  While  giving  B  the 
four  thousand,  he  might  have  devoted  five  or  seven 
thousand  to  his  own  use  with  equal  ease.  Suppose, 
on  the  other  hand,  that  A  is  the  owner  of  exactly 
ten  thousand  dollars.  Now,  if  he  gives  four  thou- 
sand to  B,  he  remains,  of  necessity,  the  owner  of 
six.  The  sum  which  he  retains  in  his  own  possession 
is  determined  by  the  amount  which  he  gives  to  B. 
He  thus  determines  the  amount  of  his  own  posses- 
sion, but  not  with  absolute  freedom.  This  amount 
is  determined  by  the  sum  which  he  gives  to  B.  We 
can  thus  understand  how,  in  the  process  which  Fichte 
describes,  determination  and  self-determination  are 
blended.  The  reality  which  fills  the  consciousness 
being  a  definite  sum.  so  much  as  the  f  ascribes  to 
the  Not-me  is  taken  from  the  Me.  Though  the  act 
is  in  part  free,  it  is  in  part  determined. 

The  problem  is  thus  solved,  so  far  as  it  was 
proposed.  Many  questions,  however,  remain  still 
unanswered.      The  fundamental  question,  how  the 


114       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

I  can  posit  negation  in  itself,  and  reality  in  the 
Not-nie,  is  untouched;  and,  so  long  as  this  question 
is  unanswered,  we  have  accomplished  nothing.  The 
I  is  pure  affirmation;  and  we  have,  thus  far,  no 
hint  of  the  possibility  of  the  entrance  into  it  of 
the  negative  element. 

We  began  by  recognizing  the  principle  of  deter- 
mination. From  this  general  notion,  we  have  reached 
the  idea  of  a  definite  kind  of  determination;  namely, 
that  by  which  the  elements  mutually  determine  one 
another.  That  is,  the  determination  of  one  depends 
upon  that  of  the  other,  that  of  the  Me  depending 
upon  that  of  the  Not-me,  and  the  reverse.  This 
mutual  dependence  of  determination  Fichte  affirms 
to  be  what  is  called,  by  Kant,  Relation.  The  two 
elements  stand  in  relation  to  one  another. 

Relation  is  itself  a  general  term.  As  we  attempt 
to  solve  the  contradiction  that  still  remains,  we  must 
seek  some  definite  forms  of  relation.  Whatever 
could  be  done  by  the  idea  of  relation  in  general,  has 
been  accomplished;  by  these  definite  forms  of  rela- 
tion we  may  hope  to  accomplish  still  more.  The 
difficulty  with  the  idea  of  i-elation  in  general,  is  that 
the  elements  related  stand  upon  a  precisely  equal 
footing.  Each  determines  the  other.  It  does  not 
matter  from  which  side  we  start,  we  have  to  deter- 
mine to  which  of  the  elements  absolute  priority 
belongs.  Reality  is  posited  absolutely  by  the  I  in 
itself.  But  we  have  posited  the  Not-me  as  a  quan- 
tum; and  every  quantum  is  something,  and  thus  has 
reality.     Therefore,  the  Not-me  becomes  not  merely 


THK    ANTINOMY    OF   TIIK    NOT-ME.  115 

negative,  but  a  negative  quantity.  We  thus  have 
two  quantities  opposed  to  each  other.  So  far  as  wo 
now  see,  we  might  call  either  positive  or  either  neg- 
ative. 11"  the  Xot-nie  is  negative  to  the  Me,  it  is 
ecjually  true  that  the  Me  may  be  regarded  as  the 
negative  of  the  Not-me.  Unless  this  ambiguity  i.s 
removed,  the  unity  of  consciousness  is  destroyed.  The 
Me  and  the  Not-me  have,  each,  reality.  They  are  no 
longer  opposed.  Each  is  what  the  other  is;  and  the 
Me  and  the  Not-me  are  one. 

We  must  seek  some  mark  by  which  we  may  dis- 
tinguish the  positive  from  the  negative;  by  which, 
thus,  we  may  absolutely  distinguish  reality  from 
that  which  is  opposed  to  it.  The  source  of  all  reality 
is  the  I.  With  this,  whatever  reality  we  can  recog- 
nize is  given.  The  very  idea  of  reality  is  given  by 
it.  But  the  I  iff.  because  it  posits  itself;  and  it  pos- 
its itself  because  it  is;  therefore  to  posit  itself  and 
to  be,  are  one  and  the  same.  Ikit,  further,  the  idea 
of  self-positing  and  that  of  activity  are  one  and  the 
same,  for  this  self-positing  is  the  original  and  funda- 
mental form  of  activity.  Thus  reality  is  active,  and 
whatever  is  active  is  real.  Activity  and  reality  are 
one  and  the  same  thing. 

According  to  the  first  of  the  subordinate  propo- 
sitions that  we  are  considering,  the  I  is  determined 
or  limited.  Thus  reality,  or,  what  is  the  same  thing, 
activity,  must  be  cancelled  in  it.  Therefore,  the 
opposite  of  activity  must  be  posited  in  it.  But  the 
opposite  of  activity  is  passivity.  Passivity  is  abso- 
lute negation,  and  is  thus  distinguished  from  mere 


116  FIGHTE'S   SCIEiyCE    OF    KNOWLEDGE. 

relative  negation.  If,  when  the  I  is  in  the  condi- 
tion of  passivity,  the  absolute  sum  of  reality  is  to 
be  preserved,  a  like  grade  of  activity  must  neces- 
sarily be  transferred  to  the  Not-me. 

Thus,  the  difficulty  that  met  us  is  solved.  We 
can  affirm  no  absolute  reality  of  the  Not-me;  but 
it  has  reality  so  far  as  the  I  is  passive.  So  far  as 
we  can  now  see,  the  Not-me,  has,  for  the  I,  reality 
only  so  far  as  the  I  is  affected;  and,  apart  from 
the  affection  of  the  I,  it  has  no  reality. 

This  affirmation  that  there  is  no  reality  to  be 
ascribed  to  the  Not-me,  except  it  is  necessary  to 
assume  this  through  the  affection  or  passivity  of 
the  I,  is,  it  will  be  noticed,  guarded  by  the  qualifi- 
cation, "  So  far  as  we  now  see."  In  fact,  Fichte 
always  remains  by  this  affirmation.  In  support  of 
it,  it  may  be  asked:  How,  if  the  Not-me  has  any 
reality  apart  from  its  relation  to  the  Me,  should 
we  ever  know  it?  What  I'ight  have  we,  then,  to 
affirm  such  being?  We  may  not,  indeed,  be  able 
to  deny  it,  any  more  than  we  can  deny  any, affirma- 
tion in  regard  to  matters  wholly  beyond  our  knowl- 
edge; but,  in  regard  to  such  matters,  there  seems 
little  place  for  affirmation,  or  even  for  question. 
By  such  suggestions  may  the  position  of  Fichte  be 
made  to  appear  rational,  even  to  those  who  are  not 
prepared  fully  to  accept  it.  He  himself  pauses  to 
emphasize  the  importance  of  this  position  in  relation 
to  this  whole  system. 

By  giving  a  real  meaning  to  the  proposition  that 
rffirmed  that  the  Me  is  determined  by  the  Not-me, 


THE  ANTINOMY   OF  THE   NOT-ME.  117 

we  have  deduced  the  Category  of  Causality.  This, 
althougli  contained  under  the  general  Category  of  Re- 
lation, is  yet  specifically  different  from  this.  Under 
the  Category  of  Relation,  it  was  left  doubtful  to 
which  of  the  related  elements  reality  should  be  as- 
cribed, and  to  which  negation.  Under  the  Category 
of  Causality,  this  i;ncertainty  does  not  exist.  In  this, 
activity  is  opposed  to  passivity.  Activity  represents 
the  cause,  and  passivity  is  the  effect.  The  active 
cause  is  real  and  positive.  Passivity  is  negative. 
Thus,  the  Not-me  is  real  and  positive  so  far  as  it 
is  a  cause.  The  I  is  negative  so  far  as  it  is  pas- 
sive, and  is  affected  by  the  Not-me. 

We  have  thus  considered  the  contradictions  that 
are  contained  in  one  of  the  subordinate  proposi- 
tions, which  were  developed  out  of  the  proposition 
which  forms  the  basis  of  the  theoretical  part  of 
the  system.  This  subordinate  proposition  is  this: 
The  Not-me  determines  the  Me.  The  other  sub- 
ordinate proposition  was  this:  The  I  determines 
itself.  We  have  now  to  consider  the  contradiction 
that  may  be  contained  in  this. 

It  will  be  understood  that  we  are  now  to  develop 
the  other  side  of  the  antinomy,  and  that,  thus,  our 
process  and  its  results  will  be  wholly  unlike  those 
just  contemplated. 

The  contradiction  contained  in  the  proposition. 
The  I  determines  itself,  is  found  in  the  fact  that 
the  I  is  affirmed  to  be  both  the  determiner  and 
the  determined.     It  is  active  and  passive  at  once. 

Both  realitv  and  neo-ation  are  ascribed  to  it  at 


118       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

the  same  time,  which  is  certainly  a  contradiction. 
The  contradiction  would  be  solved  if  we  could  make 
each  member  of  it  dependent  upon  the  other,  so 
that  the  activity  should  involve  the  passivity,  and 
the  reverse.  This  would  be  accomplished  if  we  could 
affirm  that  the  I  determines  its  activity  through 
its  passivity,  or  the  opposite.  We  have  now  to  ask 
whether  this  affirmation  can  be  made,  and,  if  so, 
in  what  sense  it  can  be  made. 

If  we  are  to  recognize  any  one  thing  as  deter- 
mined by  another,  we  must  have  some  standard  by 
which  we  can  measure  it;  for  only  by  such  a  stand- 
ard can  we  judge  how  far  the  thing  has  been  modi- 
fied by  the  influence  that  has  acted  upon  it.  Such 
measurement  must  be  found  in  the  I  itself,  and  is 
the  sum  of  reality,  which  we  have  alread}'  seen  to 
be  posited  in  it.  By  this  standard  of  measurement 
can  we  judge  how  much  reality  is  lacking  at  anj' 
moment  to  the  I;  that  is,  how  far  it  is  passive. 
We  have,  thus,  a  lack  of  reality  contrasted  with 
the  fulness  of  reality. 

Reality,  however,  has  been  found  by  us  to  be 
equivalent  to  activit3^  This  lack  of  reality  is,  there- 
fore, a  lack  of  activity.  Passivity,  then,  must  be 
shown  to  be  related  to  activity.  By  this,  is  meant 
not  the  passivity  of  one  object  that  is  related  to 
the  activity  of  another;  Ijut  the  passivity  of  any 
one  object  as  related  to  its  own  activity.  For  this 
relation,  some  common  term  is  needed  between  the 
two.  This  term  is  found  in  the  idea  of  activity 
itself.     Passivity  must  be  regarded  as  activity,  but 


THK    ANTINOMY    OF   THE    NOT-MK.  Il9 

as  a  lower  grade  of  activity.  A  lack  is  nothing  in 
itself.  What  really  exists  is  that  which  remains 
after  that  which  is  lacking  has  been  taken.  Pas- 
sivity, then,  does  not  stand  in  contraNt  to  activity 
as  such.  The  contrast  is  between  it  and  tiie  fulness 
of  activity,  from  which  nothing  has  been  subtracted. 
We  have  thus  found  the  common  term,  which  wa 
may  call  A',  between  activity  and  passivity.  It  is 
in  itself  activity.  The  passivity  is  simply  a  dimin- 
ished activity. 

Draw  a  circle,  and  the  plane  that  is  included 
in  it  stands  opposed  to  the  endlessness  of  the  space 
which  is  excluded.  Draw  witliin  this  another  circle, 
The  space  inclosed  within  it  is,  like  that  in  the 
outer  circle,  opposed  to  the  outlying  and  unlimited 
space.  It  is  also  opposed  to  the  space  included  in 
the  first  circle,  but  which  is  outside  itself.  The 
inner  circle  may  thus  be  regarded  from  two  op- 
posite points  of  view.  It  is  a  part  of  the  larger 
circle;  and  is  at  the  same  time  opposed  to  it.  We 
will  now  iKiss  from  this  illustration  to  the  reality 
which  it  symbolizes.  The  I,  in  its  completeness, 
would  represent  the  larger  circle.  Any  particular 
modification  of  the  I  —  an}' special  form  under  which 
it  may  at  any  moment  exist — would  be  represented 
by  the  smaller  circle.  The  I  is  the  fulness  of 
activity.  The  modified  form  would  also  be  activit}', 
but  a  partial  activity.  Take  for  instance  the  phrase, 
1  think.  This  is,  at  first,  an  expression  of  activity. 
The  I  acts  in  thinking,  liut  it  is  also  an  expres- 
sion of  negation,  and  thus  of  passivit}-.    The  activity 


i20       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

t)f  thought  is  only  a  portion  of  the  full  activity  of 
the  I.  Thinking  is  in  contrast  with  other  forms 
of  activity,  which  may  be  excluded  by  it.  It  is  at 
oncC)  then,  positive  and  negative  —  an  activity  and  a 
passivit}'.  Every  predicate  of  the  I  involves  this 
same  contradiction;  it  is  at  once  positive  and  nega- 
tive. 

We  can  thus  understand  how  the  T,  by  means 
of  its  activity,  determines  its  passivity;  and  how,  thus, 
it  may  be  at  the  same  time  botli  active  and  passive. 
It  is  active,  or  determining,  so  far  as  it,  through 
absolute  spontaneity,  puts  itself  into  a  single  one 
of  the  many  forms  of  activity  that  are  open  to  it. 
It  is  determined,  so  far  as  it  is  regarded  as  in- 
cluded in  this  special  sphere,  without  regard  to 
the  spontaneity  by  which  the  limitation  was  ac- 
complished. We  have  thus  found  a  new  Category, 
which,  like  that  of  Causality,  is  contained  under  the 
general  Category  of  Relation  ; — that  is,  like  Causality, 
it  is  a  special  form  of  Relation.  It  is  the  Relation 
of  Substantiality. 

So  far  as  the  I  is  regarded  as  containing  all 
the  spheres  of  reality,  or  all  the  forms  of  activity 
which  belong  to  it,  it  is  Substance.  So  far  as  it 
may  be  regarded  as  occupying  only  a  portion  of 
the  fulness  which  belongs  to  it,  one  element  onl}' 
being  present,  all  otliei-s  being  excluded,  we  find 
what  is  known  as  Accident.  Thought  is  an  accident 
of  the  I  considered  as  substance.  The  limit  which 
separates  this  special  sphere  from  the  great  totality 
is    that  which    makes    it    to    be    an    accident.     The 


THE  ANTINOMY   OF  THE   NOT-ME.  121 

possibility  of  these  accidents  —  that  is,  of  these  partial 
manifestations  of  itself — is  what  makes  the  I  to  be 
considered  as  substance. 

Substance  is  the  whole  circle  of  possible  changes, 
considered  as  a  whole.  The  accident  is  any  one  of 
these  states,  which  replaces  or  is  replaced  by  the  rest. 

It  is  to  be  noticed  that  we  have  not  as  yet  in- 
quired into  the  nature  of  the  I  by  means  of  which  it 
dirt'crentiates  itself  into  substance  and  accident,  nor 
what  occasions  it  to  make  this  differentiation.  80 
far  as  we  can  guess  from  what  has  been  already  said, 
the  occasion  of  this  act  of  limitation,  or  differentia- 
tion, must  be  found  in  the  Not-me.  We  find  here  an 
illustration  of  the  method  of  the  system  that  we  are 
studying.  We  find  a  contradiction ;  we  introduce 
some  middle  term  l)y  which  the  contradiction  may 
be  solved.  When  we  have  done  this,  we  find  that 
the  Hrst  difficulty  was  removed  only  that  a  new  one 
may  be  introduced.  The  chasm  may  be  a  little  nar- 
rower, but  it  still  exists.  So  far  as  the  I  is  limited 
by  the  Not-me,  it  is  finite.  In  itself,  however,  consid- 
ered as  pure  activity,  it  is  infinite.  We  have,  then, 
to  reconcile  the  contradiction  between  the  infinite 
and  the  finite.  This  is,  from  the  very  nature  of  the 
case,  impossible.  After  we  have  done  our  best,  there 
will  still  remain  an  unsolved  contradiction. 

We  may  now  analyze  our  results,  and  consider  at 
what  point  we  have  arrived  and  what  remains  to  be 
accomplished.  We  will  first  consider  the  Category  of 
Causality.  Suppose  tlie  I  to  be  limited  wholly  by  the 
activity  of  the  Not-me.     Just  so  far  as  it  is  invaded 


122       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

by  the  Not-me,  is  a  certain  portion  of  its  activity 
cancelled.  So  far  as  this  limitation  is  concerned,  the 
I  is  merely  passive.  The  negation  is  posited,  but 
not  for  the  I  itself.  It  is  posited  only  for  some  intel- 
ligent being  outside  the  I,  who  observes  the  transac- 
tion, and  recognizes  the  limitation.  The  I  would  be 
determined  or  limited,  but  it  would  not  posit  itself 
as  determined  or  limited.  This  could  be  posited 
only  by  some  being  outside  it.  Thus,  only  the  part 
of  the  proposition  would  be  found  true  which 
affirms  that  the  I  is  determined  b}^  the  Not-me.  It 
Avould  be  thus  determined,  but  it  would  not  so  posit 
itself. 

Let  us  now  consider  the  matter  in  relation  to  the 
Category  of  Substantiality.  According  to  this,  the  I 
would  have  the  power,  without  any  action  of  the 
Not-me,  arbitrarily  to  posit  a  lessened  amount  of 
realit}'  in  itself.  This  is  the  assumption  of  Transcen- 
dental Idealism.  It  is  the  assumption  of  the  system 
of  Leibnitz;  namely,  that  of  a  Preestablished  Har- 
mony. When  this  limitation  has  been  accomplished, 
the  I  would  certainly  posit  itself  as  determined;  but 
we  can  see  no  reason  why  it  should  posit  itself  as 
determined  b}'  the  Not-me.  The  fact  that  it  does 
ascribe  this  limitation  to  the  action  of  the  Not-me  is 
denied  by  no  idealist.  Tlie  riglit  to  make  this  as- 
sumption is,  however,  denied  l)y  the  idealist.  The 
difficulty  remains,  to  explain  how  ihe  I  comes  to  as- 
sume the  action  of  the  Not-me  as  limiting  it,  when 
it  has  no  right  to  assume  this.      We  have  here  a  dif- 


THE    ANTINOMY    OF   TTfH    NOT-MK.  123 

ficulty  that  no  merolj  idealistic  pliilosoi)liy  can 
explain. 

Starting  from  tlio  point  of  view  of  realism,  wliicli 
is  represented  by  tlu;  Category  of  Causality,  the  difti- 
cnlty  is,  to  understand  how  the  I  should  recognize. 
th(>  Not-me,  which  is  supposed  really  to  exist.  Start- 
ing I'roni  the  point  of  view  of  idealism,  which  is  rep- 
resented by  the  Category  of  Substantiality,  the  ditli- 
culty  is,  to  understand  how  the  I  should  come  to 
posit  the  Not-me,  which  has  no  existence. 

We  meet  here,  after  all  our  attempts  at  reconcilia- 
tion, the  same  antinom}'  with  which  we  started.  I'he 
Category  of  Cnusality  has  led  us  to  recognize  the 
reality  of  the  Not-me,  and  the  fact  that  the  I  is  lim- 
ited by  it.  The  Category  of  Substantiality  would 
lead  us  to  recognize  the  I  as  alone  existing,  and  th(! 
Not-me  as  a  form  of  its  activity.  The  former  would 
furnish  a  l)asis  for  the  materialistic  philosophy,  or 
for  a  philosophy  like  that  of  Spinoza,  based  upon  the 
idea  of  the  absolute  substance.  The  other  would 
give  a  basis  for  transcendental  idealism,  or  for  a  sys- 
tem  of  preestablished  harmony. 

Idealism  is  unsatisfactoiw  because,  as  we  have 
seen,  it  cannot  ex|)lain  what  it  undertakes  to  exjilain. 
The  tlieor}^  of  a  preestablished  harmony  is.  in  addition, 
inconsecjuent.  It  assumes  both  the  Me  and  the  Not- 
me;  so  far,  it  accords  with  Wm  realistic  systems  just 
referred  to.  It,  however,  regards  all  the  moditica- 
tions  of  the  mind  as  deduced  from  the  action  of  the 
soul  itself  in  absolute  independence  of  the  Not-me. 
It  meets  the  demand  of  the  realist  without  accei)ting 


124       fichte's  science  op  knowledge. 

the  reason  upon  which  he  bases  these  demands.  It 
accepts  the  assumption  of  the  idealist,  while  retain- 
ing the  machinery  of  an  outward  world,  which  is  no 
longer  needed. 

We  have  thus  brought  the  realistic  and  the  ideal- 
istic systems  of  philosopliy  face  to  face.  Neither 
accomplishes  what  it  undertakes.  The  one  assumes 
that  the  I  is  limited  by  the  Not-me,  and  thus  fails 
to  recognize  the  fact  that  the  I  limits  itself.  The 
other  assumes  the  I  to  be  self-limiting;  but  it  can- 
not explain  how  it  should  come  to  regard  itself  as 
limited  by  the  Not-me.  A  new  attempt  at  reconcil- 
iation must  be  made. 

The  contradictions  that  we  have  been  considering 
seem,  when  we  examine  them,  to  render  any  advance 
impossible.  The  I  can  posit  no  passivity  in  itself 
without  positing  activity  in  the  Not-me,  and  no  ac- 
tivity in  the  Not-me  without  positing  passivity  in 
the  Me.  It  can  posit  neither  without  the  other.  It 
can  posit  neither  absolutely — that  is,  independently 
of  the  other.  It  thus  can  posit  neither  first.  It  can 
begin  nowhere  in  its  process  of  positing.  Thus  it 
can  posit  nothing.  This  is,  however,  in  direct  con- 
tradiction with  our  fundamental  proposition,  and 
would  destroy  the  unity  of  consciousness. 

We  meet  here  a  difficulty  similar  to  that  which  we 
have  met  before,  and  this  contradiction  must  be  solved 
as  other  contradictions  have  been  .solved  by  us.  We 
must,  while  recognizing  the  mutual  contradiction  of 
the  two  propositions,  assume  this  to  be  partial.  We 
may  say,  then,  that   the  [  posits  ///  pavt  passivity  in 


THE   ANTINOMY    OF   THE   NOT-ME.  125 

itself  so  far  as  it  posits  activity  in  the  Not-nie;  but 
in  part  it  does  not  posit  passivity  in  itself  so  fai*  as 
it  posits  activity  in  the  Not-ine;  and  the  reverse.  In 
other  words,  the  passivity  of  the  one  in  neither 
case  stands  in  perfect  rehition  to  the  activity  of  the 
other.  Tlie  dependence  of  the  two  terms  of  the  rela- 
tion is  thus  no  longer  absolute.  Tiie  I  and  the  Not- 
me  have  each  an  activity  that  is  independent  of  that 
of  the  other.  We  have  what  was  needed;  namely,  a 
power  of  initiation.  The  deadlock  is  broken,  and  the 
process  that  seemed  wholly  excluded  is  free  to  mani- 
fest itself. 

Such  indei)endent  activity,  however,  contradicts 
the  principle  of  relation  which  we  had  before 
reached.  We  have  elements  that  are  unrelated. 
This  contradiction  must  be  solved  like  the  others,  by 
making  each  term  of  it  partial.  The  validity  of  the 
principle  of  relation  shall  be  partial,  and  the  inde- 
pendence of  the  elements  shall  be  partial. 

The  independent  activity  of  the  one  element  can- 
not act  upon  that  of  the  other;  and  the  reverse.  The 
relation  in  which  the  elements  stand  to  one  another 
may,  liowever,  be  related  to  the  independent  activity; 
and  the  independent  activity  may  be  related  to  it. 
Thus,  the  demands  of  each  side  of  the  contradiction 
are  met. 

When  we  ask  in  general  what  is  the  nature  of 
this  independent  activity,  we  must  look  for  our 
answer  once  more  at  the  relation  between  the  activ- 
ity and  passivity  whicli  we  have  just  seen  to  be  de- 
pendent upon  it.      This  activity  and    passivity  are 


126  FICHTE's    bClENCE    OF    KNOWLEDGE. 

mutually  dependent.  There  is  no  activity  of  the  Me 
without  passivity  of  the  Not-me;  and  the  reverse. 
There  must,  then,  be  some  common  element  by  which 
both  are  united,  and  upon  wliich  this  relation  de- 
pends. A  result  reached  already  by  us  may  indicate 
the  nature  of  this  common  element.  It  is  reality,  or, 
when  the  relation  is  considered  as  an  action,  it  is 
activity.  We  have  already  recognized  the  idea  of  the 
limited  quantum  of  reality  —  or,  from  another  point 
ol  view,  of  activity.  No  reality  can  be  cancelled; 
therefore,  just  so  much  as  is  taken  from  the  one  side 
must  be  posited  on  the  other.  This  furnishes  the 
basis  for  the  mutual  dependence  of  the  Me  and  the 
Not-me,  and  is  the  independent  activity  that  we 
need. 

The  principle  which  we  have  just  reached  fur- 
nishes the  ground  for  the  independent  activity  of 
the  Not-me  and  of  the  I,  considered  each  as  taking 
the  initiative  in  the  relation  between  them.  This 
application  of  the  principle  can  best  be  seen  Ijy  mak- 
ing use,  as  before,  of  the  Categories  of  Causality  and 
of  Substantiality.  It  must  be  noticed  that,  under 
the  Category  of  Causality,  the  general  principle  above 
deduced  exists  as  a  quantum  of  reality,  forming 
the  content  of  consciousness;  while,  under  the  Cate- 
gory of  Substantiality,  it  is  regarded  as  existing  as  a 
quantum  of  activity,  forming  the  subject  of  con- 
sciousness. 

We  will  first  consider  the  matter  under  the  Cat- 
egory of  Causality.  Passivity  is  posited  in  the  sub- 
ject.    To    this    must     be    opposed    activity    in    the 


THE    ANTINOMY    OF   THE   NOT-ME.  127 

Not-me.  The  basis  of  the  relation  is  fomul  in  the 
idea  of  quantity,  as  has  just  been  described.  The 
content  of  consciousness  must  be  divided  between 
the  Me  and  the  Not-me.  Passivity  in  the  Me  is  the 
ideal  ground  of  the  activity  of  the  Not-me;  that  is, 
it  is  the  ground  upon  which  we  assume  the  activity 
of  the  Not-me.  The  requirements  of  the  relation 
between  the  two  are  thus  fully  satisfied. 

Looked  at  from  this  point  of  view,  we  have  no 
longer  merely  a  difference  of  (quantity.  We  have  a 
difference  of  quality.  Passivity  is  posited  as  a  qual- 
ity wholly  different  from  activity.  The  ground  of  a 
quality  is  a  real  cause.  An  independent  activity  of 
the  Not-me  must  be  posited  as  the  real  cause  of  the 
passivity  of  the  Me:  and  this  activity  is  posited  in 
order  that  we  may  have  a  real  cause  for  the  passiv- 
ity. 

We  have  here  the  strongest  statement  of  one  side 
of  the  antinomy,  which  underlies  our  whole  discus- 
sion. We  have  reached  the  point  where  we  recog- 
nize the  independence  of  the  Not-me,  and  its 
absolute  causality  in  relation  to  the  Me.  Fichte 
pauses  in  his  reasoning,  to  recognize  this  fact,  and  to 
insist  that  this  position  should  not  be  regarded  as  a 
final  one.  We  pass,  therefore,  at  once  to  the  consid- 
eration of  the  other  side  of  the  antinomy.  To  reach 
this,  we  consider  the  relation  of  the  I  and  the 
Not-me.  under  the  Category  of  Substance. 

The  fundamental  nature  of  the  reasoning  under 
this  Category  has  already  been  considered.  We  have 
seen  that  passivity  is  qualitatively  not  to  be  distin- 


128       fichte'8  science  of  knowledge. 

guished  from  activity.  Passivity  is  only  a  smaller 
amount  of  activity.  The  ground  of  relation  is  here 
activity.  In  this  the  Category  of  Substance  is  to  be 
considered  as  different  from  that  of  Causality,  under 
which  the  mediating  ground  was  found  to  be  quan- 
tity. Here  it  is  the  activity  of  consciousness.  There 
it  was  the  content  of  consciousness. 

In  the  Not-me,  however,  a  limited  amount  of 
activity  is  also  posited.  The  question  arises,  How 
then  shall  the  limited  activity  of  the  Me  and  that  of 
the  Not-me  be  absolutely  distinguished  from  one 
another?  If  no  ground  of  distinction  can  be  found, 
our  whole  labor  will  have  been  lost. 

Further,  it  is  assumed  that  the  diminished  activity 
should  be  the  activity  of  the  same  I  in  which  the 
sum  of  activity  is  posited.  According  to  our  pre- 
vious results,  under  the  Category  of  Causality,  the 
activity  that  is  opposed  to  the  total  activity  should 
be  posited  in  the  Not-me.  Should  it  be  posited  in 
that,  however,  there  would  be  no  relation  possible 
with  the  total  activity.  We  must  seek,  therefore, 
some  mark  by  which  the  diminished  activity  of  the 
I  shall  be  absolutely  distinguished  from  that  of  the 
Not-me,  and  by  which  the  required  possibility  of 
relation  may  be  established.  From  wliat  we  have 
already  seen  of  the  nature  of  the  I,  this  character- 
istic must  be  the  positing  absolutely  and  without 
ground.  This  lessened  activity  must,  therefore,  be 
absolute.  But  absolute  and  without  ground  means 
wholly  unlimited;  and  yet  this  act  of  the  I  is  the 
becoming  limited.     The  answer  to  this  is  that  only 


THE    ANTINOMY    OF   TIIK    NOT-.MK.  129 

SO  far  as  it  is  an  act  is  it  without  ground.  The  act 
is  wholly  spontaneous;  but,  so  far  as  it  is  directed 
upon  an  object,  it  must  be  determined.  In  otiier 
words,  it'  tlie  act  is  to  take  place,  it  must  be  directed 
upon  this  object. 

We  have  thus  reached  the  thought  of  the  inde- 
jiendent  activity  of  the  I,  that  is  needed.  This  is  not 
absolute  activity  in  general,  but  absolute  activity 
which  determines  a  relation.  This  activity  is  called 
Imagination.* 

The  imagination  hlls  with  Fichte  the  same  place 
that  it  does  with  Kant,  and  which  it  must  till  in  any 
idealistic  philosoi)liy.  In  every  such  philosoidiy,  the 
world  of  objects,  in  the  midst  of  which  we  seem  to 
live,  is  a  world  of  phenomena,  or  of  appearanctis. 
We  have  only  sensations  of  various  kinds.  It  is  the 
imagination  that  creates,  out  of  these,  the  full  and 
rounded  world  of  our  daily  life.  The  relation  in 
which  the  imagination  stands  to  the  Me  and  the 
Not-me  in  their  relation  to  one  another,  is  obvious. 
They  are  its  creation.  We  have  thus  fulfilled  the 
condition  which  was  required.  We  have  found  an 
independent  activity  that  stands  in  relation,  not 
merely  to  the  Me,  or  to  the  Not-me,  but  to  the 
relation  that  exists  between  them.  It  is  the  basis  of 
the  very  possibility  of  this  relation. 

In  the  discussion  which  we  have  just  followed, 
one  point  is  barely  indicated  which  is  made  much 
more  of  in  the  later  forms  of  the  Science  of  Knowl- 
edge.    The    act   of  the    productive    imagination    is 

*Siimiutliche  Wurke,  I,  ICO. 
9 


130        fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

maintained  to  be  perfectly  free,  so  far  as  the  act  is 
concerned;  but  the  results  of  this  activity  are  deter- 
mined in  case  the  act  takes  place.  In  other  words, 
we  are  perfectly  free  to  think  or  not,  perfectly  free 
to  exercise  this  creative  power  or  not;  but  if  we 
choose  to  make  use  of  the  power  which  we  have,  the 
results  must  depend  upon  the  fixed  nature  of  this 
power  itself.  This  may  seem  contrary  to  our  expe- 
rience, according  to  which  the  world,  whether  real 
or  phenomenal,  is  a  fixed  fact  for  us,  and  not  at  all 
dependent  upon  our  volition.  Fichte  would  seem, 
however,  elsewhere  to  refer  the  exercise  of  this  free- 
dom to  a  point  anterior  to  our  life  of  conscious 
experience;*  to  reach,  in  fact,  a  position  similar  to 
that  of  Schelling  in  his  discussion  of  Human  Free- 
dom.f  The  hint  given  of  this  view  in  the  work 
that  is  now  before  us,  is  interesting  as  being  one 
among  many  indications  that  the  system  of  Fichte 
remained  substantially  the  same,  through  all  the 
varied  forms  of  statement;  and  that  the  views  later 
developed  underlie  all  the  earlier  statements.  The 
implication  is  here  found  in  the  fact  that  the  ground 
distinctly  taken  in  all  later  statements  is  required,  if 
the  earlier  statement  is  to  have  any  meaning. 

The  discussion  at  this  point  becomes  so  elaborate 
and  complicated  that  it  would  be  impossible  to 
attempt   a   condensed    statement    that   should    give 

*Siiinintliche  Werke,  I,  159.  Coinpurc  Siimiutliche  Werke,  II, 
107,  in  the  statement  of  1801;  and  048  in  Die  Thatsachen  des  Bcwusst- 
scyns. 

t  L'utersuchungen  iiber  das  Wcscu  dcr  Mcuscldiclicn  Frciheit,— 
Schclling's  Siimmtliclic  Werke,  1st  Abtheilung,  VII,  335. 


TIIK    ANTINOMY    OF   THK    NOT-MK.  131 

more  than  the  rattle  of  the  machinery;  or  an  expo- 
sition that  should  not  stretch  beyond  the  limits 
within  which  the  present  work  is  confined.  We  can 
simply  indicate  as  brielly  as  possible  the  nature  of 
the  discussion,  and  its  more  iini)ortant  results. 

The  relation  between  the  Me  and  the  Not-me  i.i 
analyzed  more  carefully  than  before.  lu  this  rela- 
tion there  exist  four  elements.  These  are  the  Mate- 
rial of  the  Relation,  its  Form,  the  Independent 
Activity  upon  which  the  Material  depends,  and  that 
upon  which  the  Form  dei)ends. 

The  Material  of  the  Relation  consists  obviously  of 
the  elements  that  enter  into  it;  namely,  the  Me  and 
the  Not-me.  The  Form  of  the  Relation  is  the  nature 
of  the  dependence  which  one  of  these  elements  has 
upon  the  other.  The  nature  of  this  dependence  we 
have  already  seen  to  be  the  following:  So  much  of 
the  absolute  reality  as  is  not  posited  in  the  Me,  must 
be  posited  in  the  Not-me;  so  much  as  is  posited  in 
the  Not-me  is  not  posited  in  the  Me.  The  one  thus 
involves  and  suggests  the  other.  The  passivity  of 
the  Me  brings  us  to  the  thought  of  the  activity  of 
the  Not-me  as  its  real  cause;  the  activity  of  the 
Not-me  suggests  the  passivity  of  the  Me  as  its  ideal 
ground. 

The  Independent  Activity  upon  which  •  the  Mate- 
rial is  dependent,  is,  as  we  have  seen,  the  imagina- 
tion which  creates  these  elements.  The  Independent 
Activity  upon  which  the  Form  of  the  Relation  de- 
pends, is  the  consciousness,  which  is  led  by  the  pres- 
ence of  the  one  element  to  the  thought  of  the  other, 


133        fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

and  vvliicli  thus  discerns  the  nature  and  the  necessity 
of  their  mutual  dependence.  In  other  words,  in  every 
act  of  the  productive  imagination,  may  be  found  two 
elements.  One  of  these  may  be  called  the  objective 
element;  it  is  that  which  furnishes  the  matter  of 
consciousness.  The  other  may  be  called  the  subjective 
element;  it  is  that  which  recognizes  and  adopts  this 
material. 

These  four  elements  —  the  Matter,  the  Form,  the 
Independent  Activity  of  the  Matter,  and  that  of  the 
Form  —  are  considered  in  every  possible  aspect.  The 
dependence  of  each  upon  all  the  rest,  and  of  all 
upon  each,  is  elaborately  discussed.  Each  point  is 
considered  under  the  Categories  of  Causality  and 
Substantiality.  The  result  is  to  show  the  mutual 
dependence,  and,  indeed,  the  identity  of  all  these 
forms  of  relation.  Neither  has  any  meaning  apart 
from  the  rest.  We  have  but  one  process  considei'ed 
under  various  aspects. 

The  elements  of  the  relation  are  thus  shown  to 
have  no  existence  apart  from  the  form.  That  is, 
these  elements  are  mutually  dependent,  one  upon 
the  other.  Their  relation  is  polar.  They  are  sim- 
ply antithetical  to  one  another.  The  Not- me  is 
simply  the  antithesis  of  the  Me.  The  Me  is  simply 
the  opposite  of  the  Not-me.  Neither  has  any  exist- 
ence or  any  meaning  apart  from  the  other.  If  there 
be  no  subject,  there  can  be  no  object.  If  there  be  no 
object,  there  can  be  no  subject.  Tliis  relation  of 
dependence  does  not,  of  course,  include  the  1  in  its 
absoluteness.     This  is  independent  of  antithesis  and 


TUK    ANTINOMY    OF   TJIK    NOT-MPL  133 

of  synthesis.  Its  activity  is  independent  and  essen- 
tial. The  reference  is  only  to  subject  as  the  corre- 
late of  object;  or,  to  use  the  form  of  expression  that 
we  have  generally  adopted,  to  the  Me  in  relation  to 
the  Not-nie. 

We  have  thus  reached  a  result  which  may  occa- 
sion some  difficulty.  We  have  found  that  neither 
the  Me  nor  the  Not- me  has  any  meanini,'  apart  from 
the  other.  I]ach  exists  only  through,  and  in  relation 
to,  the  other.  On  the  other  hand,  tliey  are  mutually 
exclusive.  How  shall  this  mutual  exclusiveness  be 
reconciled  with  this  mutual  dependence?  The  two 
must  meet  in  our  consciousness,  or  else  we  can  have 
no  recognition  of  either.  How  can  they  thus  meet, 
when  each,  by  its  very  nature,  excludes  the  other? 
The  solution  of  this  difficulty  Fichte  tinds  in  the 
idea  of  limit  or  boundary. 


A     I     n 


Let  A  and  B  represent  t^vo  divisions  of  space, 
which  touch  each  other  at  the  line  c.  What  relation 
has  the  line  r  to  these  two  tracts  of  space?  Does  it 
belong  to  neither  of  them,  or  to  either  of  them;  and 
if  to  either,  to  which?  It  cannot  belong  to  neither, 
for  in  this  case  the  line  r  would  be  a  space  between 
the  two  tracts,  while,  according  to  the  su[iposition, 
they  touch  one  anotlier.  The  lino  e  is  merely  a 
mathematical  line  that  marks  a  distinction,  but 
indicates  no  separation.     If  it  belongs  to  either  of 


134       fichte's  sciexce  of  knowledge. 

them,  to  which  of  them  shall  it  belong?  If  it 
belongs  to  A,  then  it  is  not  the  line  of  division.  It 
is  a  part  of  ^1,  and  no  longer  the  line  r.  The  line  r 
must  be  pushed  forward  toward  B,  so  far,  at  least, 
as  it  may  be  supposed  to  have  before  covered  any 
space.  If  we  make  it  a  part  of  B,  the  same  change 
of  relation  exists,  only  in  the  opposite  sense.  What 
was  the  line  c,  is  now  a  part  of  B;  and  another  line 
c  must  be  drawn  by  so  much  nearer  to  A.  It  must 
then  belong  to  both.  In  other  words,  at  the  line  r, 
A  and  B  are  no  longer  distinct.  They  meet,  then, 
each  being  what  it  is,  each  antithetical  to  the  other. 
yet  so  far  as  this  line  is  concerned,  coexisting.  AVe 
cannot  thus  analyze  the  line  e,  however,  without,  in 
our  imagination,  giving  it  a  real  extent.  As  we 
thus  speak  of  it,  it  has  become  to  us  no  longer  a 
mere  mathematical  line,  as  it  really  is,  but  a  strip 
of  space. 

The  line  c  may  represent  the  meeting  point  of 
the  Me  and  the  Not-me.  At  their  mutual  boundary 
line  they  are  one.  Fichte  atHrnis  that  the  imagina- 
tion has  the  power  to  hold  this  line  and  to  broaden 
it;  and  thus  the  ditticulty  is  solved.*  The  meeting 
of  the  two  mutually  exclusive  elements  is  accom- 
plished. This  meeting  is  all  that  was  needed  for  the 
possibility  of  recognizing  each  in  its  relation  to  tin; 
othei-. 

We  have  thus  reached  the  most  complete  recogni- 
tion that  is  possible  of  the  relation  of  the  Not-me  to 
the  Me,  and  of  its  alj'^olute  dependence  upon  the  I. 

*Siiinintli(hc  Wcrkc,  I,  -li-B,  ct  seq. 


THE    AXTINOMY    OF   THE    NOT-ME.  135 

The  positing  of  the  Not-me  is  tlie  act  of  the  I  as 
truly  as  the  positing  of  the  Me;  and  the  Not-nie  be- 
longs to  the  I  as  truly  as  does  the  Me.  This  relation  is 
illustrated  by  a  careful  and  somewhat  elaborate  dis- 
cussion of  the  nature  of  substance.  Substance  has 
been  assumed  throughout,  but  at  this  point  its  na- 
ture is  for  the  first  time  fully  analyzed.* 

The  nature  of  substance  may  be  illustrated  by 
the  various  relations  under  which  iron  exists.  Our 
first  notion  of  iron  is,  that  in  itself  it  is  without 
motion.  If  it  is  moved,  it  can  only  be  by  means  of 
some  power  foreign  to  itself.  The  idea  of  motion  is 
thus  excluded  from  our  conception  of  iron.  We, 
however,  later  observe  that  it  moves  when  no  one  is 
bringing  any  force  to  bear  upon  it.  We  find  that 
this  motion  was  occasioned  by  the  neighborhood  of  a 
magnet.  We  find  that  to  move  thus  when  a  mag- 
net is  present,  is  one  of  the  properties  of  iron.  Our 
notion  of  iron  is  thus  enlarged.  Let  .1  represent 
iron  at  rest.  Let  B  represent  iron  in  motion,  under 
the  influence  of  the  magnet.  At  first,  our  notion  of 
iron  would  be  expressed  by  A.  B  would  be  some- 
thing wholly  foreign  to  it.  Now,  our  notion  of  iron 
is  expressed  by  .1  -I  B.  Iron  never,  at  an\'  one 
moment,  fulfils  this  formula.  In  other  words,  A 
and  B  are  never  present  at  the  same  time.  A  +  B 
is  always  determined  either  by  A  or  B.  When  the 
iron  is  at  rest  we  have  A  +  B  determined  by  .1. 
When  it  is  in  motion  we  have  .1  +  B  determined 
by  B.     The  nature  of  iron,  then,  is   found  to  con- 

*  SainmtliclR"  Wcrke.  I,  l'J5,  ft  soq. 


13G        fichte's  sciexce  of  knowledge. 

sist  in  this  determinability.  This  determinability 
is  what  we  express  by  the  word  Substance.  If  we 
had  only  .1  —  in  other  words,  if  things  were  abso- 
lutely persistent  and  unchangeable,  manifesting  al- 
ways precisely  the  same  attributes — we  should  have 
no  idea  of  substance.  Substance  has  no  meaning 
except  in  relation  to  accidents.  No  accidents,  no 
substance;  no  substance,  no  accidents.  It  is  the 
accidents,  taken  collectively,  that  give  us  substance. 
A  +  B  \H  the  substance,  of  which  .1  and  li  are  the 
accidents.  Determinability  is  the  substance,  of  which 
determinations  are  the  accidents. 

Let  us  now  apply  this  illustration  to  the  special 
ol>ject  of  our  stud}'.  Let  A  represent  the  act  of  the 
I  in  positing  the  Me,  which,  as  such,  has  no  existence 
except  as  thus  posited.  Let  B  represent  the  act  of 
the  I  in  positing  the  Not-me.  At  first,  we  sought  to 
represent  the  L  by  A  alone.  B,  we  thought,  was 
wholly  foreign  to  it.  Its  positing  of  the  Not-me  was 
regarded  as  the  recognition  of  something  outside 
itself.  We  now  find  that  the  positing  of  the  Not- 
me  is  as  truly  its  act  as  the  positing  of  the  Me:  that 
tlie  Not-me  is  dependent  upon  the  I  as  truly  as  the 
Me;  that  it  h;is  no  existence  except  as  posited  by  tlie 
I.  We  thus  no  longei-  represent  the  I  by  A.  We 
represent  it  by  A  +  />.  We  find  that  its  substance, 
like  all  substance,  consists  in  determinability.  This 
determinability  is  expressed  by  the  formula  just 
given. 

We  have  thus  gone  as  far  as  it  is  possible  in  tbe 
direction  toward  the  mnking  of  the  Not-me  tlie  mere 


THE    ANTINOMY    OF  THE   NOT-ME.  137 

product  of  the  T.  We  have  found  that  tlie  positing 
of  the  Not-iue  is  wholly  tho  act  of  the  T;  that  the 
positing  of  the  Not-nie  belongs  to  the  nature  of  the 
I.  Our  dilliculty  is,  however,  not  wholly  removed. 
The  quale  of  the  \  is  absolute  activity.  It  is,  as  we 
have  seen,  considered  in  itself,  infinite.  Wiiat  could 
have  moved  it  to  the  positing  of  itself  as  limited,  and 
of  a  limited  Nol-ine  over  against  itV  The  difficulty 
is  not  removed  by  the  discussion  in  regard  to  the 
nature  of  substance.  Thongli  the  positing  of  the 
Not-me  is  an  accident  pertaining  to  the  substantial- 
ity of  the  I,  yet  none  the  less  do  we  demand  the 
occasion  of  the  manifestation  of  this  accident.  It 
belongs,  indeed,  to  the  nature  of  iron  to  move  under 
some  circumstances,  as  truly  as  it  does  to  r(»main 
fixed  wlien  these  circumstances  do  not  exist.  The 
magnet,  however,  must  be  present  if  the  movement 
is  to  occur.  What  shall  take  the  jilace  of  the  mag- 
net in  relation  to  the  I? 

The  difficulty  that  has  met  us  throughout,  we 
find  to  l)e  thus  waiting  for  us  at  the  end  of  our  anal- 
ysis. It  presents  itself  in  a  somewhat  difierent  form, 
but  the  difficulty  is  the  sa.me.  We  can  no  longer 
seek  to  avoid  it  by  analysis  of  montal  i)rocesses. 
This  analysis  can  be  carried  no  far(h<'r.  The  whole 
mattei-  has  been  reduced  to  its  lowi^st  tei-ms.  The 
ditfienltv  at  last  must  be  fairly  and  S(|uart'ly  met. 

Ficlite  me(>ts  the  difliculty  in  tliis  way.  He 
assumes  the  existence  of  some  obstacle,  against 
which    the    activity   of    the    I   strikes,   and.    in    part, 


138        fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

recoils  upon  itself.*  This  obstacle  need  not  be  sup- 
posed to  be  of  the  nature  of  a  thing.  It  is  merely  a 
limit  that  is  placed  about  the  I.f  Against  this  the 
activity  of  the  I  strikes.  It  is  in  pari  checked,  and, 
as  we  have  seen,  turned  back  upon  the  I.  This  col- 
lision, then,  is  the  occasion  upon  which  the  I  posits 
the  Not- me. 

We  have  now  to  see  how  far  the  requirements  of 
the  case  are  met.  In  the  first  place,  the  absolute- 
ness of  the  I  is  preserved.  If  the  ol)stacle  is  any- 
thing but  an  obstacle, —  that  is,  if  it  lias  an}'  activity 
of  its  own,  so  that  it  invades  the  I, — we  cannot  con- 
ceive how  this  result  should  have  been  reached.  The 
I  would  be  a  thing  acted  upon  by  another  thing. 
The  I,  however,  is  alone  active;  and  the  collision 
does  not  take  anything  from  its  activity.  The  I 
only  takes  occasion  from  this  to  manifest  its  activity 
in  a  different  form. 

Not  only  does  the  I  still  remain  infinite,  so  far  as 
its  independent  activity  is  concerned;  this  infinitude 
is  needed  for  the  very  idea  of  the  collision.  If  the 
activity  of  the  I  were  limited,  it  might  be  supposed 
that  this  check  arose  because  the  limits  of  its  own 
nature  were  reached.  If  the  limits  of  its  own 
nature  merely  were  reached,  it  may  be  asked, 
whence  can  come  that  superabundant  activity, 
which  is  reflected  back,  as  we  have  seen,  and  thus 
furnishes  the  origin  of  consciousness,  and  of  the 
objective  world?  It  is  because  the  activity  of  the  I 
is  pressing  into  the   infinite,  that  we  iccognize  the 

*Siiiiiiutliclif  Weike,  I,  'JIO.  tSaiiie,  279. 


THE    ANTINOMY    OF   THE    NOT-ME,  139 

necessity  of  the  collision  that  has  been  described, 
and  can  und(M-stand  the  results  that  follow. 

In  the  second  i)lace,  we  have  still  the  absolute 
dependence  of  the  Not-nie  upon  the  I.  It  must  not 
be  supposed  that  the  limit  against  which  the  activ- 
ity of  the  I  strikes,  is  that  which  is  represented  by 
the  Not-me.  The  objective  world,  which,  as  we 
have  seen,  the  imagination  creates,  is  wholly  inde- 
pendent of  this.  We  must  not  imagine,  for  instance, 
a  world  of  things,  the  changes  of  which  are  followed 
by  changes  in  consciousness,  which  do  not  reproduce 
them  but  correspond  to  them ;  as  the  reflections  in  a 
distorting  mirror  follow  the  changes  of  the  reflected 
objects  by  changes  of  their  own,  different  from  them, 
but  corresponding  to  them;  as  in  the  Transfigured 
Realism  of  Spencer.  We  may,  perhaps,  illustrate 
the  relation  as  viewed  by  Fichte,  though  very  im- 
perfectly, by  what  sometimes  occurs  during  sleep. 
The  sleeper  is  partly  aroused  by  some  sound  or 
touch,  and  forthwith  creates  a  world  of  dreams. 
These  dreams  may  not  in  any  way,  or,  at  most,  only 
incidentally,  represent  the  sound  or  the  touch.  The 
impression  from  without  is  only  the  occasion  upon 
which  the  mind  freely  creates  the  objects  which 
make  up  the  dream.  The  content  of  the  dream 
conies  not  from  without,  but  from  within. 

It  must  be  distinctly  noticed  that  this  limit  is 
found  by  the  T  — not  created  by  it.  In  accounts  which 
we  sometimes  meet  of  Fichte's  Philosophy,  the  oppo- 
site view  is  taken.  The  I  is  represented  as  limiting 
itself.    Fichte  represents  the  limit  as  something  that 


140        fichte's  sciexce  of  knowledge. 

forms  an  obstacle  to  the  activity  of  the  I  —  as  some- 
thing against  which  this  activity  beats  as  against 
an  obstacle  lying  in  its  way.  We  shall  later  seek 
further  the  nature  of  this  limit.  It  is  enough 
for  our  present  purpose  to  recognize  it  as  something 
found  b}'  the  I;  and  in  that  sense  as  something  for- 
eign to  it.  It  is  merel\'  a  limit;  that  is,  this  boun- 
dary has  no  existence  except  as  such.  It  does  not 
stand  for  a  continent  of  solid  reality  against  the 
shore  of  which  dashes  the  unceasing  activit}'  of  the  T. 
All  this,  however,  does  not  affect  the  relation.  It  is, 
none  the  less,  a  line  drawn  about  the  I  ah  extra. 

To  know  precisely  where  we  stand  in  Ihe  discus- 
sion, it  is  well  to  notice  the  various  philosophies  of 
the  Not-me  which  Fichte  recognizes,  and  which  he 
contrasts  with  his  own.  We  first  meet  what  he  calls 
Qualitative  Kealism.*  This  is  the  view  which  men 
ordinarily  hold  in  regard  to  the  outward  world. 
There  is  a  world  of  things  about  us  which  are  as 
real  as  the  mind  its(>lf.  These  things  stand  in  no 
dependence  upon  the  mind.  They  would  exist  if 
all  forms  of  spirit  were  annihilated.  They  act  upon 
the  mind.  Their  changes  cause  changes  in  the  mind, 
and  these  mental  changes  represent  moi'e  or  less  ac- 
curately the  changes  without.  Indeed,  the  inner 
world  is  a  more  oi'  less  perfect  cop}'  of  the  outward 
world,  and  contains  little,  if  indeed  it  contains  any- 
thing, that  is  not  imiiressed  upon  it  from  without. 
This  view  may,  of  course,  be  held  in  greater  (ir  less 
fulness.     The  essential  elfMuent  of  it   is  the  indepen- 

*s;iiiiintli(iR'  Wt-rke,  Ift^.  et  soq. 


TIIK    A  NT  I  XO  MY    OF   THE    NOT-MK.  141 

dence  of  the  Tliing-in-itself,  and  the  real  impression 
produced  upon  the  mind  I)y  it.  Ft  is  called  (,|u;ilita- 
tivc  Realism,  because  the  Not-me  is  (qualitatively 
different  from  the  Me. 

Over  against  this  stands  the  view  which  Fichfe 
calls  Qualitative  Idealism.  Accordinu;  to  this  view, 
nothing  outside  the  mind  is  I'ecognized.  The  mind 
creates  its  own  world.  It  does  this  without  law  or 
limit;  in  other  words,  the  relation  between  the  Me 
and  the  Not-me  is  regarded  as  wholl}'  lawless  and 
arbitrary. 

A  second  form  of  idealism  is  called  by  Fichte  ()uan- 
titative  Idealism.  This  we  have  already  examined 
to  some  e.xtent,  and  need  to  do  little  more  than  rel'er 
to  statements  already  made.  The  view  is  based 
upon  what  we  have  known  as  the  sum  of  reality,  or 
the  sum  of  activity.  This  introduces  a  law  into  the 
relation  between  the  Me  and  the  Not-me.  We  have 
the  one  really  dependent  upon  the  other.  Each  has 
its  being  in  the  other.  If  I  divide  a  surface  into 
two  parts,  each  simply  excludes  the  other.  What  is 
given  to  one  is  taken  from  the  other;  and  what  is 
taken  from  one  is  given  to  the  other.  The  I  still 
acts  without  being  atfected  by  anything  outside  itself. 
Both  the  Me  and  the  Not-me  are  its  product;  but 
by  the  very  act  of  positiiig  them,  this  relation  of 
mutual  dependence  is  introduced  into  their  relation 
to  one  another. 

Over  against  this  Quantitative  Idealism,  we  have 
what  Fichte  calls  Quantitative  Realism.  This  is  the 
position  that  we  have  just  reached  in  our  analysis. 


142       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

The  Thing-in-itself",  according  to  this  view,  is  not  re- 
gai'ded  as  qualitatively  distinct  from  the  mind,  or 
as  producing  any  specific  impression  upon  it.  We 
have  simply  a  limit  that  possesses  no  quality  what- 
ever. As  being  thus  merely  a  limit,  it  must  be  re- 
garded as  quantitative  merely.  It  simply  is  some- 
thing against  which  the  activity  of  the  I  impinges; 
and  from  which  the  I  takes  occasion  to  posit  the 
world  which  it  recognizes  as  the  Not-me. 

No  one  of  these  views  is  wholly  satisfactory.  Each 
involves  difficulties  which  the  rest  seek  to  avoid,  and 
seeking  to  avoid  which,  they  fall  each  into  difficulties 
of  its  own. 

Qualitative  Realism  is  in  itself  inconceivable. 
It  assumes  that  the  Real  can  in  some  way  pass  into 
the  Ideal;  that  the  Not-me  can  in  some  way  become 
the  Me.  It  treats  the  I  as  a  th'utg  which  may  be 
acted  upon  by  other  things,  as  though  they  all  be- 
longed to  the  same  class.  We  can,  indeed,  imagine 
the  I  to  be  a  thing  thus  acted  upon,  but  it  would 
cease  to  be  an  I.  Put  such  a  thing  in  the  midst  of 
the  chain  of  Physical  Causation,  and  how  would 
thought  and  feeling  arise?  In  other  words,  the  I  and 
the  thing  belong  to  wholly  different  Categories. 
They  are  infinitely  unlike.  One  is  the  polar  antithe- 
sis of  the  other.  How  then  can  the  one  act  upon  tlie 
other?  This  is  a  difficulty  which  many  besides  Pichte 
have  felt.  Spinoza  sought  to  solve  it  by  his  sublime 
Monism;  and  Leibnitz  by  his  doctrine  of  Preestab- 
lished  Harmony.  Fichte  insists  upon  the  impossibil- 
ity of  solving  the  difficulty.      According  to  him,  as 


THK    ANTINOMY    OF   TIIK    NOT-MK.  143 

we  have  alioady  seen,  the  doctrine  of  tlio  Preostab- 
lished  Harmony  introduces  an  ilh)^acal  extrava^'ance 
into  wliat  was  in  itself  inconceivable.  If  the  outer 
lias  no  eif(!ct  u[)on  the  inner,  if  the  thing  and  the 
mind  both  go  on  their  independent  way,  wiiere  is 
the  need  of  introducing  this  elaborate  machinery, 
the  luovciiicnts  of  which  correspond  with  the  inner 
changes  that  are  wholly  inde[)endent  of  them?  If 
you  convince  me  that  the  vision  that  I  seem  to  have 
of  a  man,  is  an  optical  delusion,  where  is  the  need  of 
supposing  a  real  num  to  be  doing  what  my  vision 
seems  to  represent?  The  hypothesis  is  cumbersome 
and  needless. 

Qualitative  Idealism  is  as  unable  to  explain  the 
facts  of  the  case  as  Qualitative  Kealism.  Why  should 
the  I  thus  limit  itself?  Why  should  the  I  mis- 
take its  own  creation  for  something  foreign  to 
itself?  This  position  simply  affirms  an  act  of  inde- 
pendent creation  that  is  wholly  lawless  and  un- 
caused; while  even  this  groundless  assum})tion  would 
not,  even  were  it  established,  explain  the  facts  of  the 
case. 

Quantitative  Realism  attemi)ts  to  avoid  this  diffi- 
culty. It  suggests  the  occasion  on  which  the  I  finds 
itself  moved  to  recognize  a  form  of  being  opposed  to 
itself.  In  it  the  faults  that  we  found  in  Qualitative 
IJealism  are  reduced  to  a  minimum.  They  are,  how- 
ever, not  wholly  removed. 

For  Quantitative  Realism  it  was  claimed  that,  ac- 
cording to  it,  the  independence  of  the  I,  the  abso- 
luteness of  its  activity,  remained.      The  1,  according 


144       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

to  this  view,  is  not  acted  upon  by  tlie  Not-me.  The 
Not-nie,  which  it  I'ecognizes  as  such,  is  its  own  crea- 
tion. It  simp]}"  takes  occasion  to  enter  upon  this 
act  of  creation  from  the  collision  that  it  has  with 
the  limit,  which  is  all  that,  according  to  this  view, 
represents  the  outward  thing.  It  is  obvious,  how- 
ever, that  this  impinging  is  an  interference  with  the 
absoluteness  of  the  I.  The  fact  that  an  occasion  for 
a  change  in  the  form  of  its  activity  is  thus  furnished 
to  it  from  without,  shows  that  it  is  so  far  limited. 
No  slighter  limitation  could  be  possible;  yet  the  lim- 
itation and  the  interference  are  there.  The  antin- 
omy remains  that  has  confronted  us  at  every  stage. 
This  antinomy  has  become  merely  the  shadow  or 
vestige  of  what  it  was;  but  even  in  this  attenuated 
form  it  demands  solution  as  truly  as  it  did  in  the 
grosser  form  under  which  we  first  met  it.  Since  no 
more  attenuation  is  possible,  and  since  the  form  of 
the  antinomy  still  remains  unsolved,  it  must  be  pro- 
nounced insoluble.  Our  analysis  thus  ends  with  an 
unsolved  and  an  insoluble  contradiction. 

We  have  thus  reached  the  limit  of  what  Fichte 
calls  the  theoretical  part  of  his  system.  The  propo- 
sition underlying  this  portion  of  the  work  is  this: 
The  I  posits  itself  as  determined  bv  the  Not-me.  We 
have  analyzed  this  proposition  so  far  as  analysis  is 
possible.  We  have  solved  contradiction  after  con- 
tradiction, only  to  find  that  each  gives  place  to  a  new 
contradiction,  more  refined  and  abstract  than  that 
which  preceded  it,  but  no  less  real.  We  have  reached 
the  point  where  further  analysis  is  impossible,  and 


THK    ANTINOMY    OK   THE    NOT- ME.  145 

the  coiitradiL'tion  still  leiiiains.  Tlie  theoretical 
method  is  thus  powerless  to  reach  the  result  which 
we  are  seeking.  We  must,  therefore,  turn  from  it 
to  the  practical  part  of  the  system,  to  see  whether 
the  practical  reason  may  not  afford  a  solution  which 
the  theoretical  reason  cannot  reach. 
10 


CHAPTER   VTII. 
THE  PRACTICAL  SOLUTION  OF   THE  AXTINO]\IY. 

THE  proposition  whicli  underlies  the  practical 
portion  of  the  discussion  is  tliis:  The  I  posits 
itself  as  determining  the  Not-me.*  At  first  tliis 
proposition  was,  it  will  be  renieinbered,  found  to  be 
unserviceable.  We  did  not  know  whether  there  was 
in  reality  such  a  thing  as  the  Not  ine.  We  have 
found  that  we  cannot  avoid  the  recognition  of  the 
Not-me,  under  however  attenuated  a  form.  We 
have  now  to  ask  vvhether  the  I  can  really  determine 
it;  and,  if  so,  how  and  to  what  degree.  Especially 
are  we  to  ask  whether,  practically,  we  can  reach  the 
solution  which,  theoretically,  is  impossible. 

From  this  point  of  view  we  can  Hrst  really  un- 
derstand the  nature  of  that  antinomy  which  has 
haunted  us  through  our  whole  discussion  thus  far. 
The  comprehension  of  Fichte's  position  will  be 
helped  by  a  reference  to  Kant's  Crititiue  of  Pure 
Reason;  for,  in  this  first  systematic  presentation 
of  his  system,  Fichte  follows  very  closely  the  method 
of  Kant,  and  his  system  can  be  best  understood  l)y  a 
comparison  with  that  of  Kant. 

The  antinomy  which  we  have  been  considering 
fills  the  same  place  in  the  system  of  Fichte  that  the 

♦  Saiiiintliclie  Wcrkc,  I,  2J0,  ct  f^uq. 
146 


SOLUTION    OF   THE    ANTINOMY.  147 

antinomies  fill  in  that  of  Kant.  Like  them,  it  rests 
upon  a  purely  psycholoj^ical  basis.  The  antinomies  in 
Kant  have  their  origin  in  the  fact  that  in  the  mind 
there  are  two  distinct  faculties  or  methods  of  action; 
namely,  the  understanding  and  the  reason.  These 
are,  so  to  speak,  on  different  [)lanes;  and  in  their 
workings  and  results  are  absolutely  incommensura- 
ble. p]ach  has  its  own  laws  and  its  own  end.  The 
two  occu|)y  an  e(iual  rank  in  our  intellectual  nature; 
thus  neither  can  be  subjected  to  the  other.  We  must 
use  both;  we  must  trust  to  both;  and  yet,  when  we 
compare  the  results  to  which  each  would  lead  us.  we 
find  them  mutually  exclusive.  80  far  as  the  under- 
standing is  viewed  in  relation  to  enqiirical  results, 
its  world  is  too  small  for  the  reason;  but  when  the 
measureless  sweep  of  its  Categories  is  considered  — 
the  endless  regressus  on  the  line  of  Causation,  the 
analysis  that  can  find  no  point  of  rest  —  the  world  of 
the  understanding  is  found  to  be  too  vast  foi'  the 
architectural  unity  which  the  reason  demands.* 

The  antinomy  which  plays  so  important  a  part  in 
the  system  of  Fichte,  rests  also  ui)on  a  psychological 
basis.  The  one  side  represents  the  practical  reason, 
the  activity  of  the  ('(jo,  which  presses  into  the  infi- 
nite. The  other  side  rests  upon  the  theoretical  reason. 
Intelligence  and  consciousness  under  any  form  are 
inconceivable  without  some  limit.  We  have  thus 
the  infinite  I  and  the  finite  I.  face  to  face.  The  one 
will  assert  itself,  and  will,  therefore,  be  absolute. 
The  other  will  lie   intelligent  and  self'-consciuus,  and 

*Kuiifs  Wurkf,  Ko^ciiknuix'  edition.  II.  :5.'i5  and  ;i76. 


148       ficiite's  sciexce  of  knowledge. 

must,  therefore,  be  limited.  We  see  thus  the  hope- 
lessness of  any  attempt  at  solution.  Both  of  these 
elements  belong  to  the  nature  of  the  I.  If  either  of 
them  should  be  surrendered,  the  [  would  no  longer 
remain.  Both  must  be  accepted.  Yet  to  accept 
both  is  to  remain  in  the  presence  of  an  unsolved 
contradiction,  which  would  make  philosophy  impos- 
sible. At  least,  any  theoretical  solution,  and  thus 
any  system  of  philosophy  based  upon  theoretical  con- 
siderations, is  impossible.  It  may  be,  however,  that 
practical  considerations  will,  at  least  partially,  re- 
move the  difficulty.  If  we  cannot  untie  the  knot, 
perhaps  we  can  cut  it.  This  was  what  Kant  did. 
With  an  "  It  must  be  "  he  swept  away  all  the  diffi- 
culties which  had  made  an  "  It  is  ''  im[)ossible.  This 
fact  in  the  procedure  of  Kant  may  pre[)are  us  for  the 
method  which  Fichte  really  adopts. 

The  antinomy,  expressed  in  its  most  condensed 
form,  is  this:  The  I  is  both  inHnite  and  finite.  This 
proposition  is  self-destructive.  It  affirms  and  denies 
in  the  same  breath.  This  proi)Osition.  however,  is 
the  outcome  of  all  our  analysis  thus  far.  This  aiuil- 
ysis  was  based  upon  the  most  indis])utable  facts  of 
consciousness.  Each  element  of  it  has  been  deduced 
so  carefully  that  it  must  he  accepted  as  true.  Vet, 
when  we  bring  the  elements  together,  they  mutually 
destroy  one  another. 

This  contradiction  has  its  roots  deeper  than  would 
be  implied  by  the  statements  already  made.  It  is 
found  in  the  very  idea  of  Die  infinite  I  itself.  The 
term  I  has  no  significance,  except  as  an  expression  of 


SOLITION    OF  THE   ANTINOMY.  140 

consciousness  or  intelligence.  If  the  infinite  I  be 
indeed  an  I,  it  nmst  then  he  intelligent.  It  is,  how- 
ever, fundamental  with  Fichte  that  consciousness  or 
intelligence  inii)lies  limitation.  The  term,  infinite 
T,  is,  therefore,  ecjuivalent  to  the  term,  limited  infi- 
nite, which  is  ohvionsly  a  contradiction. 

The  contradiction  thus  lies  at  the  basis  of  our 
whole  discussion.  We  might  trace  it,  if  it  were 
worth  while,  step  by  step.  Our  first  proposition  was 
that  the  [  posits  itself.  This  appeared  to  be  the  I  as 
unlimited.  It  came  simply  together  with  itself.  It 
was  an  act  of  absolute  self-assertion.  But.  as  we 
have  seen  later,  the  ^le  cannot  be  posited  without  the 
Not-me.  The  royal  act,  then,  by  which  the  infinite 
I  posits  itself,  is  an  act.  to  a  certain  extent,  of  abdi- 
cation. The  I  cannot  posit  itself  without  limiting 
itself. 

We  thus  see  that  the  infinite  I  and  the  intel- 
ligent T  are  not  in  opposition.  The  latter  is  the  ally 
of  tlip  former.  It  is  tln-ongh  it  alone,  that  the  infi- 
nite activity  allirms  itself.  This.  then,  is  the  very 
root  of  the  antinomy  that  we  have  been  tracing.  The 
T  cannot  affirm  itself  without  affirming  that  wliich  is 
not  itself.  The  infinite  cannot  affirm  itself  without 
becoming  finite.  Finiteness  is  the  only  means  for  an 
end  whicli  it  contradicts. 

From  all  this,  it  must  not  l)e  supposed  that  the  I 
is  merely  finite.  It  represents  an  infinite  activity. 
It  feels  that  all  limitation  is  a  narrowing  and  con- 
straining of  that  which,  without  sucli  limitation, 
would  l)e  limith^ss.     The   I  is  tiius  conscious  of  its 


150       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

infinitude,  tliongli  the  very  consciousness  is  a  limita- 
tion. 

The  contradiction  seems  thus  absolute;  absolute 
in  itself  and  equally  absolute  in  its  necessity.  It  is 
tlie  solution  of  this  contradiction  that  we  have  now 
to  seek. 

The  very  absoluteness  of  the  contradiction  su^^- 
gests  the  method  of  solution.  If  it  cannot  be  weak- 
ened, it  must  somehow  be  avoided.  The  only  method 
in  which  this  can  be  done  suggests  itself  naturall}' 
to  the  mind.  If  it  is  aftirmed  that  A  is  B,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  is  not  /i,  and  if  we  accept  the  state- 
ment as  true,  we  see  at  once  that  tlie  terms  must  be 
used  in  two  senses;  that  in  one  sense  .1  is  B,  and  in 
another  sense  it  is  not  B.  So  if  the  I  is  at  once  in- 
finite and  finite,  it  must  be  intinite  in  one  sense  and 
finite  in  another.  Onh'  in  this  way  can  the  two  ap- 
parently contradictor)'  statements  stand  together. 

This  we  find  to  be  the  case.  The  I,  in  order  that 
it  ma}'  be  intelligent  —  even  in  order  that  it  mav  be 
an  I  —  must  recognize  itself  as  limited.  It  must  posit 
something  that  is  not  itself.  In  this  it  is  finite.  On 
the  other  hand,  this  positing  of  a  limit  is  all  that  is 
required.  The  I  is  not  limited  as  to  tiie  point  where 
the  boundary'  must  be  placed.  It  may  put  it  wherever 
in  infinity  it  may  choose.  Its  finiteness  consists  in 
the  necessity  of  a  limit;  its  infinitude,  in  the  power 
to  place  the  limit  where  it  will. 

It  may  be  well  to  explain  and  emphasize  again 
the  nature  and  the  necessity  of  tliis  limit.  It  is  fun- 
damental to  the  naturt!  ot  the  I  tliat  it  sliould  be  m- 


SOLUTION    OF   THE    ANTINOMY.  151 

telligcnt.  The  condition  of  this  intelli<,'ence  is  tho 
positins^  of  the  Not-nie;  that  is,  tlie  positing  of  a 
limit  to  itself.  So  lung  as  the  I  is  what  it  is,  must  it 
yield  io  this  law  of  intelligence;  thus,  so  long  must 
it  limit  itself.  In  other  words,  it  finds  itself  limited, 
and  thereby  intelligent.  But  a  limit  is  all  that  is 
essential.  This  limit  the  I  can  i)ush  forward  into 
the  inlinit(>.  It,  can  never  fully  escape  it,  yet  it  may 
be,  to  infinitude,  tending  to  escape  it.  It  may  al\va3's 
move  in  the  direction  of  infinitude.  It  may  always 
be  becoming  infinite.  This  is  a  goal  toward  which 
it  may  ever  press.  It  is,  however,  a  goal  that  can 
never  be  reached.  It  may  ever  press  the  limit  fur- 
ther and  further,  but  not  till  the  end  of  eternity  can 
the  limit  ever  be  wholly  escaped. 

In  this  fact,  Fiehte  finds,  as  he  repeatedly  insists, 
the  basis  of  faith  in  immortality.*  The  I  has  this 
impulse  to  infinitude.  It  is  conscious  of  an  infinite 
activity.  The  very  term,  conscious  of  infinite  activity, 
as  we  have  seen,  involves  also  the  consciousness  of 
finiteness.  Thus  is  the  nature  of  the  soul  double. 
Thus  does  it  find  itself  at  first  bafiied  and  bewildered. 
It  finds  only  contradiction.  As,  however,  it  rises  to 
the  real  assertion  of  itself,  as  it  claims  that  inherit- 
ance which  it  feels  really  belongs  to  it,  it  finds  the 
limits  give  way.  The}'  seem,  for  the  moment,  to  fall 
off  from  it.  As  soon,  however,  as  it  has  tasted  the 
joy  of  freedom,  it  finds  itself  again  oppressed.  The 
limit  has  been  only  pushed  to  a  little  greater  dis- 
tance, but  it  is  there,  as  real  and  as  solid  as  at  the 

*  SainmtliclK'  Worko.  1,  270. 


152        fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

first.  Again  and  again  must  this  process  be  re- 
peated with  the  same  result.  This  is  the  very 
nature  of  the  soul.  It  must  continue  the  process 
till  the  end  be  reached.  But  not  till  eternity  be  ex- 
hausted would  it  be  possible  to  reach  the  farthest 
limit  of  intinity.  The  process  is  endless;  endless- 
ness of  time  must  therefore  be  postulated.  The  des- 
tiny of  the  soul  is  always  accomplishing  itself,  and  is, 
therefore,  nev^er  fully  accomplished.  The  I  thus 
carries  within  itself  the  pledge  of  its  own  immortal- 
ity. Should  the  end  ever  be  reached,  the  I  would 
become  God.*  Let  no  one  be  startled  by  the  state- 
ment. At  the  latest  moment,  the  soul  would  be  as 
far  from  the  limit  of  infinitude  as  it  is  from  the  end 
of  eternity;  as  far,  thus,  from  both  as  it  was  at  its 
eai'liest  start;  thus,  though,  if  the  process  were  ful- 
filled, it  would  become  God,  at  the  latest  moment 
that  we  can  conceive  in  etm'nity  the  soul  would  in 
fact  be  as  far  from  being  God  as  it  is  to-day.  The 
finite  is  always  infinitely  removed  from  the  infinite. 
We  have  now  reached  the  solution  of  the  paradox 
that  has  haunted  us  so  long;  so  far  at  least  as,  in  the 
judgment  of  Fichte.  a  solution  is  possible.  The  dif- 
ficulty has  been  to  reconcile  the  positing  of  itself  b\' 
the  I,  with  the  fact  that  it  posits  something  foreign 
to  itself.  The  former  act  implies  alisoluteness;  the 
latter  implies  limitation.  iiolh  nu;st  ])e  true,  in 
spite  of  the  apjiarent  contradiction.  The  former  is 
involved  in  the  fact  that  the  I  is;  the  latter,  in  the 
fact  that  the   I   is  iiilcU'Kjcitt.      The   reconciliation   is 

*Ficlitu'9  Saniintliflu'  Wurkr,  IV  (Siltciilcliri'),  IT)!. 


ftOLmON'    OF   TIIH    ANTINOMY.  If).'} 

found  ill  the  fact  that,  while  tlie  limitation  must  ho 
assumed  by  and  for  the  sake  of  the  intelligence,  as  a 
reality,  absolute  freedom  from  limit  (ixists  as  a  postu- 
late. This  postulate  is  always  accomplishing  it-s(df, 
iliough  it  is  iKiver  accomplished. 

iMan  feels  that,  his  destiny  is  to  !>(>  wholly  inde- 
])ondent  of  that  whicli  is  foreign  to  himself.  The 
end  and  aim  of  his  existence  is  thus  to  assert  him- 
self in  ihe  face  of  that  outward  universe  which  is,  on 
its  i)a,i-t,  a.lso  self-asserting,  and  which  is  always  in- 
vading the  realm  of  the  absolute  personalit}'.  ^lan 
feels  within  himself  the  [)ower  to  accomplish  this 
end  which  his  nature  demands;  he  often  feels,  indeed, 
that  he  is  accom[)lishing  it.  Mr,  finds  that  the  hay- 
riers  are  moving  Ix'forc;  him,  that  the  area  of  his 
freedom  is  l)ecomiiig  (Milarged,  that  he  is  thus  press- 
ing into  tin;  inlinite.  Tli(>se  feelings  are  tru(!.  The 
fact  is  in  accordance  with  them:  but  the  |)rocess  is 
an  eternal  one,  and  its  end  will  never  be  fully 
reached. 

We  have  already  enumerated  four  stages  in  the 
development  of  our  thought  in  regard  to  the  rela- 
tion between  the  inner  and  the  outei-  worlds.  These 
stages  were  marked,  it  will  be  remenibered,  as  Qual- 
itative Ivealism,  (Qualitative  Idealism,  Quantitative 
blealism,  and  (Quantitative  l>ealisin.  To  these  must 
now  be  added  a  tilth.  The  position  now  reached  by 
Fichte,  and  maintained  by  him  as  his  final  one,  he 
calls  Critical  idealism. 

We  have  here  a  complete  rinclation  of  the  close- 
ness with  which    Fi<'hte,  in   the  work    wliicli   we  are 


154  FTCHTE's   SCIEIS'CE    OF    KNOWLEDGE. 

now  studying,  imitates  the  procedure  of  Kant. 
Kant,  also,  as  we  have  seen,  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  antinomies.  He  found  it  impossible  for 
thought  to  solve  these.  They  are  hj  their  nat- 
ure insoluble.  Where  thought  failed,  however, 
the  moral  sense  succeeded.  He  was  like  a  combat- 
ant who  proposes  to  his  adversary'  that  they  shall 
lay  aside  the  swords  with  which  they  were  contend- 
ing. His  opponent  yields;  and  they  stand,  face  to 
face,  disarmed.  The  battle  is  a  drawn  one.  Sud- 
denly, however,  he  produces  another  weapon,  a  pis- 
tol, that  he  had  carried  concealed  about  him.  His 
adversary  stands  unarmed  and  helpless  before  him. 
Such  was  the  procedure  of  Kant.  As  the  advocate 
of  the  truth  of  religious  faith,  he  brought  his  adver- 
sary to  a  compromise.  It  was  agreed  that  no 
arguing  could  prove  either  the  positive  or  the  nega- 
tive of  the  great  question  at  issue.  So  soon,  how- 
ever, as  the  truce  is  accomplished.  l»y  the  aid  of  the 
postulate,  the  existence  of  which  his  adversary  had 
not  suspected,  he  wins  an  easy  victory  over  his 
now  disarmed  opponent.  For  this  reason  the  sys- 
tem of  Kant  is  called  critical.  Each  of  his  funda- 
mental treatises  is  called  a  Kritik.  All  purely 
logical  processes  are  shown  to  be  powerless.  The 
postulate  of  the  practical  reason  alone  remains.  So 
Fichte  calls  his  result  also  critical.  We  have  a 
Critical  Idealism,  which  is  so  called  because  it  recog- 
nizes the  powerlessness  of  the  arguments,  both  of 
the  common  IJealism  and  of  the  common  Idealism, 
the  powerlessness  even  of  that  sublimated  Idealism 


soi.rxroN  of  the  antinomy.  155 

and  Koiilisni  tliat  he  calls  Quantitative.  Neither  of 
these  is  competent  to  exi)lain  what  needs  to  be 
explained.  By  the  postulate  that  has  been  described, 
however,  he  forces  a  positive  result.  It  is  Idealism 
still,  but  it  is  (Critical  Idealism. 

We  may  notice,  also,  another  point  of  resem- 
blance between  the  procedure  of  Fichte  and  that  of 
Kant.  This  is  a  resemblance  that  will  become  more 
and  more  distinct  as  we  advance.  It  is,  indeed,  a 
resemblance  which  will  ultimately  lead  to  the  com- 
pleting of  the  one-sided  and  fragmentary  results 
reached  by  Kant.  It  is  this:  The  self-assertion  of 
the  I,  which  is  here  postulated  by  Fichte,  will  prove 
to  be  precisely  the  Practical  Reason  of  Kant.  The 
way  in  which  the  results  of  Fichte  give  complete- 
ness to  those  of  Kant  may  be  illustrated  by  the  part 
which  belief  in  immortality  plays  in  each  system. 
Immortality  is  demanded  by  Kant  in  order  that 
some  })ower.  apparently  outside  both  of  man  and  his 
surroundings,  should  accomplish  a  relation  between 
man  and  his  environment  which  neither  man  nor 
the  nature  of  things  could  bring  about.  Immor- 
tality is  thus  postulated  as  something  which  might 
be  supposed  to  be  foreign  to  man's  nature,  and 
which  is  provided  in  order  to  give  space  for  the 
working  of  a  power  also  foreign.  With  Fichte  no 
foreign  element  is  recognized.  Immortality  is 
found  to  be  imi)lied  by  the  very  constitution  and 
condition  of  the  I  itself.  It  furnishes  a  field  for  no 
outside  power,  but  for  the  activity  of  the  soul.  The 
soul  feels  its  infinitude.     It  feels  also  its  limitation. 


15G        ficiite's  sciexce  of  knowledge. 

By  its  very  nature  it  deniands  that  this  infinitude 
should  be  realized.  It  feels  itself  to  be  in  its  normal 
condition  when  it  is  bringing  about  this  realization. 
The  work,  however,  is  an  endless  one,  and  deniands 
eternity.  After  this  genei'al  view  of  the  position  of 
Fichte,  we  will  return  to  the  development  of  his 
system. 

The  sense  of  limit  cannot  be  aroused  without 
some  means  of  comparison,  b}'  which  the  activity 
that  is  checked  at  the  boundar}'  that  has  been 
referred  to,  shall  be  seen  to  be  inadequate  to  mani- 
fest the  real  nature  of  the  I.  Without  some  such 
com))arison.  the  I  might  be  seen  liy  some  spectator 
from  the  outside  to  be  limited,  bnt  it  would  not 
itself  recognize  the  limit.  In  lact.  we  never  feel  a 
limit  which  belongs  to  the  constitution  of  our 
nature.  No  man  feels,  for  instance,  the  limitation 
of  his  own  judgment.  AVe  go  through  the  world 
ajiplying  our  verdict  of  good  or  bad.  beautiful  or 
ugly,  with  al)Solute  confidence  that  we  can  trust 
imidicitly  to  our  own  perception. 

"  "Tis  with  (iiir  jiid^-iiieiits  as  oui'  watclu's:    none 
(io  just  alike,  yd  each  bflicvos  Ills  own." 

If  we  feel  such  limitations  at  all,  it  is  because  our 
natures  are  moi'e  developed  in  certain  directions 
than  they  are  in  others.  ^Ve  may  have  learned  to 
trust  the  judgment  of  others  in  regard,  for  instance, 
to  certain  mattci's  of  taste,  more  confidently  than 
we  do  our  own.  This  sense  of  limitation  is  tlie 
result  of  comparison  of  the  results  of  our  own  judg- 
ment in  the  past,  with   the  results  of  tlip  judgment 


SOLUTION    OF   TUK    ANTINOMY.  157 

of  those  wlioiii  we  now  rospeci  as  more  to  he  trusted 
tlian  ourselves.  This  |)i"oeeclure  is,  liowever,  wholly 
superficial  and  ari)itrary.  \\v.  have  simply  learned 
the  fact  of  our  limitation;  \vr,  have  no  sense  of  it. 
We  cannot  see  why  every thiuLj  is  not  [jrecisel}-  as  it 
appears  to  us — the  uninterestinL,^  uninteresting, 
and  the  attractive,  attractive.  We  know  from  experi- 
ence that,  to  a  better  judgment,  the  a[)pearance  may 
be  wholly  changed.  What  is  to  us  uninteresting 
may  be  to  it  beautiful.  Though  we  may  know  this, 
the  knowledge  is,  as  has  been  said,  superficial  and 
meaningless.  Thus  there  are  many  who  go  through 
life  without  even  learning  their  limitations.  They 
lay  down  their  crude  estimate  of  things  with  as  much 
confidence  as  they  did  at  the  first.  They  are  lim- 
ited for  others  —  that  is,  to  the  perception  of  others  — 
they  are  not  limited  for  themselves.  Those  who 
have  learned  the  lesson,  have  learned  it  merely  as  if 
by  rote.  They  are  not  limited  for  themselves  ;  they 
have  simply  learned  that  in  the  view  of  others  they 
are  limited.  We  never  recognize  a  limit  that  we 
have  not  in  some  sense  or  degree  already  passed. 
If  we  have  parti}'  passed  the  limit,  and  in  part  are 
restrained  by  it,  then  only  are  we  really  conscious 
of  it.  The  animal  is  not  conscious  of  its  tiniteness. 
It  is,  for  reasons  that  can  be  better  explained  later, 
conscious  of  outward  and  physical  limits,  (^f  the 
limits  of  its  own  nature,  it  may  be  supposed  to  be 
unconscious,  because  it  has  no  hint  of  anything  that 
transcends  these.  It  has  no  vision  or  divination 
that   has   pressed   beyond  them.     With    man,   it    is 


158       fichte's  sciekce  of  knoavledge. 

different.  He  runs,  if  the  expression  may  be  used, 
in  advance  of  himself.  His  prophetic  soul  reaches 
vague  suggestions  of  that  which  it  has  not  yet 
attained.  It  thus  becomes  conscious  of  its  limita- 
tions. It  is  not  true  merely  that  it  presses  toward 
the  mark  of  its  high  calling,  because  it  feels  that  it 
has  not  yet  attained,  and  is  not  perfect.  It  is  even 
more  true  that  this  sense  of  imperfection,  and  of  the 
unattained,  springs  from  the  fact  that  the  spirit  is 
really  pressing  on,  ever  reaching  out  in  advance  of 
the  position  actually  gained,  and  discovering  thus 
that  this  position  cannot  be  a  final  one,  and  that  by 
tarrying  there  the  spirit  fails  of  its  true  end. 

The  nature  of  the  relation  which  has  just  been 
indicated  in  a  general  sense,  is  described  by  Fichte 
in  a  more  abstract  way.  In  connection  with  this 
abstraction,  he  uses  mechanical  illustrations  which 
give  to  the  statements  an  air  of  scientific  precision, 
but  which  are  merely  figures  of  speech,  by  which  we 
may  represent  to  ourselves  the  principle  under  con- 
sideration. Such  a  mechanical  and  figurative  pre- 
sentation was  that  of  the  impingement,  from  which, 
as  we  have  already  seen,  the  I  receives  the  impulse 
to  posit  the  Not- me,  and  thereby  the  Me.  Huch  me- 
chanical illustrations  will  occur,  not  infrequently,  as 
we  advance. 

The  statement  of  Fichte  is,  briefly,  this:  The  I 
is  the  source  of  two  forms  of  activity.  The  one 
stops,  say  at  the  limit,  r.  the  other  presses  beyond  r, 
into  the  infinite.  Being  so  unequal,  the  two  forces 
can    be    compared,  and    thus    recognized    by   the  I. 


SOLUTION    OF   Tin-:    ANTINOMY.  150 

Though  their  iac(iuality  is  thus  the  inean.s  of  their 
recognition,  yet,  since  the  I  is  one,  its  activities 
shoukl  he  one.  The  I,  tlierefore,  cannot  rest  content 
with  this  inequality,  hut  demands  that  it  should  he 
removed.  Since  the  infinite  force  represents  the 
rcdliti/  of  the  I,  tiio  1  demands  that  the  other  should 
be  made  e(iual  to  it.  This  is  impossible,  since  this 
would  imply  an  intinite  extension.  It  remains,  then, 
a  postulate  that  is  never  perfectly  fulfilled. 

We  will  now  analyze  this  presentation,  and  make 
its  application  more  clear.  The  facts  that  need 
explanation  and  illustration  are  these.  The  I  feels 
its  limit  because  it  presses  beyond  it;  and  it  presses 
beyond  the  limit  because  it  divines  something  to 
which  it  has  not  yet  fully  attained.  For  these 
results,  are  needed  difterent  forms  of  activity  that 
can  be  compared  between  themselves,  and  some  basis 
or  standard  for  this  comparison.  In  order  to  make 
the  discussion  more  easily  understood,  we  should, 
perhaps,  define  more  carefully  the  terms  used.  We 
have  to  ask,  then.  What  is  meant  by  the  limit  with 
which  the  I  finds  itself  confronted?  The  limit  is  the 
world  of  objects  within  which  the  soul  seems  to  be 
inclosed.  These  form  a  limit,  because  they  do  not 
follow  the  wish  and  will  of  the  [.  They  are  not 
precisely  what  it  would  have  them.  They  are 
thought  of  as  representing  a  force  outside  the  I. 
This  force  and  its  results  are  compared  with  the 
ideal  of  the  I,  and  found  wanting. 

Although  these  objects  are  regarded  as  the  prod- 
ucts of  a  foreign  force,  they  are  really  the  products 


160        fichte's  sciexce  of  knowledge. 

of  the  I.  As  we  have  seen  in  discussing  the  anti- 
nomy of  the  Not-me,  the  fact  that  we  are  conscious 
of  them  shows  that  they  are  really  within  the  con- 
sciousness. We  may  call  the  activity  ihat  posits 
them,  the  objective  activity  of  the  I.  With  this,  and 
with  the  external  force  which  it  posits,  is  to  be  com- 
pared another  activity  of  the  I.  which  goes  beyond 
this  objective  limit,  and  thus  makes  it  an  object  of 
consciousness.  The  need  of  this  basis  for  compari- 
son is  found  in  the  fact  that  nothing  is  recognized 
by  us,  except  in  contrast  with  something  else.  This 
is  assumed  by  our  common  speech,  according  to 
which,  to  see  a  remote  object,  and  to  distinguish  it, 
are  one  and  the  same  thing. 

We  have  then  to  ask,  What  is  the  nature  of  that 
activity  of  the  T,  which  is  contrasted  with  the  objec- 
tive activity?  To  this  question  there  can  be  but  one 
answer.  The  I  has  only  two  forms  of  activity.  One 
is  the  objective  activity  just  described;  tlie  otlicr  is 
the  absolute  activity,  by  which  it  affirms  itself.  The 
objective  activity,  as  the  name  implies,  is  limited. 
It  goes  as  far  as  the  object,  and  there  stops.  The 
other  is  described  as  pressing  beyond  this  limit,  out 
into  the  infinite.  The  contrast  between  the  two  is 
what  makes  it  possible  to  recognize  each.  The  I 
would  know  nothing  of  its  infinite  activity,  if  it 
were  not  for  its  finite,  objective  activity;  and  the 
reverse.  Without  the  Not-me,  there  would  be  no 
consciousness  of  the  Me;  without  that  of  the  Me, 
there  would  be  none  of  the  Xot-me. 

These  two  forms  of  activity  are  wholly  indepen- 


SOLUTION    OF   THK    ANTINOMY.  161 

dent  of  one  another.  They  have  nothing  in  common, 
except  in  the  I'act  that  each  is  a  force,  and  that  each 
belongs  to  the  I.  How  then  shall  they  be  com- 
pared? The  object  posited  makes  the  comparison 
possible.  It  serves  as  an  index,  to  show  just  how 
far  the  objective  force  reaches,  and  thus  that  the 
infinite  force  presses  beyond  it. 

The  I  brings  these  forces  into  comparison.  If 
they  are  thus  brought  into  relation,  they  should  be 
absolutely  e([ual.  This  equality  is  demanded  by  the 
fiict  that  the  f  is  one.  It  can  tolerate,  therefore,  no 
ditference  within  itself.  All  its  activity  must  be 
one.  The  act  of  positing  the  object  is  its  activity. 
Therefore  the  I,  comparing  this  activity  with  its 
infinite  activity,  demands  that  the  two  shall  be 
eijual  and  alike.  If  they  are  not,  there  is  found  to 
be  a  discord  in  the  I  itself.  But  so  surely  as  an 
object  must  be  posited,  the  two  forms  of  activity  are 
not  equal  and  alike;  for  the  object  itself,  by  its  very 
existence,  implies  a  limitation.  The  objective  activ- 
ity of  tlie  I  is,  therefore,  limited;  that  by  which  it 
affirms  itself  is  absolute.  The  two  are,  therefore, 
utterly  unlike.  As  we  have  seen,  however,  the  I 
demands  t-lieir  equality.  They  must  be  absolutely 
equal.  Since,  however,  they  are  really  not  equal, 
but  must  be  made  so,  the  question  arises,  Which  of 
the  two  shall  be  made  to  correspond  to  the  other, 
and  which  shall  be  assumed  to  furnish  the  ground 
or  standard  to  which  both  must  conform?  It  is  easy 
to  see  how  this  question  must  be  answered.  The  I 
must  be  absolutely  independent,  while  all  must  be 
11 


162       fichte's  sciEiiircE  of  knowledge. 

dependent  upon  it.  Thus  the  object  must  corre- 
spond to  the  I.  It  must  conform  itself  to  that;  and 
it  is  the  absolute  I,  which,  by  reason  of  its  absolute- 
ness, demands  this. 

Fichte  attempts  to  make  the  matter  clear  by 
another  form  of  presentation.*  The  activity,  Y,  is 
given.  This  represents  the  objective  activity  of  the 
T,  or,  more  concretely,  as  manifesting  this  activity, 
it  represents  the  object  itself.  With  this  activity, 
the  fundamental  and  absolute  activity  of  the  I  is 
brought  into  relation.  In  order  that  the  two  may 
be  compared,  we  suppose  another  object  outside  the 
I,  equal  to  —  Y,  which  represents  the  absolute  activity 
of  the  I,  and  is  thus  its  equivalent.  We  have  thus 
two  objects  over  against  the  I,  each  representing 
one  form  of  its  activity.  Y  is  the  real  object,  or 
what  we  recognize  as  such.  It  is  the  Not-me,  which 
is  posited  by  the  I,  and  which  forms  its  limit.  It  is 
the  world  with  which  we  stand  in  relation.  On  the 
other  hand,—  !"  is  an  object  that  has  no  existence, 
except  in  thought.  It  lies  in  a  world  in  which  all 
the  activity  of  the  I  is  really  one,  in  which  there  is 
no  discord  or  difference.  In  other  words,— F  is  an 
ideal,  and  exists  only  in  an  ideal  world.  Thus  Y 
and  — F  are  not  in  accord;  they  stand,  on  the  con- 
trary, in  contrast  with  one  another. 

From  this  relation  of  difference,  two  results  of 
the  highest  importance  spring.  One  is  the  demand 
of  the  I  tliat  the  two  shall  be  alike,  that  Y  shall  be 
made  similar  to  —  Y,   that  the  real  shall    be  made 

♦Sammtlichc  Wcrkc,  I,  2C1. 


SOLUTION    OF   THE    ANTINOMY.  163 

absolutely  on«^  with  tlie  ideal.  Tlie  second  result  is 
the  recognition  of  the  object  itself.  The  object  is 
known  as  such,  because  it  stands  in  contrast 
with  the  absolute  activity  of  the  I.  if  there  were 
not  this  contrast,  then  there  would  be  no  object. 
The  I  would  be  all  in  all,  and  precisely  for  that  rea- 
son it  would  be  nothing;  for  without  the  object,  the 
I  would  be  unable  to  posit  itself. 

The  importance  of  the  position  which  we  have 
now  reached,  so  far  as  the  system  of  Fichte  is  con- 
cerned, is  obvious.  We  are  at  the  heart  of  the  sys- 
tem. We  have  reached  the  point  where  the  various 
lines  of  thought  meet,  and  from  which  we  must  start 
afresh  for  future  investigations.  It  is,  therefore, 
essential,  for  the  comprehension  of  Fichte,  that  this 
position  be  thoroughly  understood.  It  is  important 
that  one  should  not  only  be  able  to  repeat  the  for- 
mulcC  by  which  the  thought  of  Fichte  is  uttered,  but 
that  one  should  see  the  real  meaning  of  these  formu- 
la\  Only  thus  can  one  see  the  truth  that  underlies 
them,  and  can  thus  judge  whether  this  truth  has 
been  forced  to  yield  results  which  are  not  really 
contained  in  it. 

It  will  be  remembered  that,  as  we  have  already 
seen,  Fichte  refers  to  a  passage  in  Kant's  Introduc- 
tion to  the  Critiijue  of  Judgment  as  suggesting 
the  point  from  which  he  started  in  his  independent 
thought.  The  passage  from  Kant,  here  referred  to, 
is  that  in  which  he  recognizes  the  practical  and  the 
theoretical  reason  as  standing  over  against  one 
another,  as  having  diflerent  systems  of  laws,  and  as 


164       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

being,  to  our  thought,  irreconcilable.  Kant  inti- 
mates, however,  the  possibility  that  there  may  be 
some  unity  in  which  this  antagonism  is  solved.  This 
principle  of  unity  he  recognizes  as  the  supernatural. 
It  was  this  recognition,  by  Kant,  of  the  fundamental 
antinomy  of  our  nature,  and  its  possible  solution, 
that  fired  the  thought  of  Fichte.  In  this  statement, 
we  have  the  definite  problem,  which  he  undertook 
to  solve,  and  we  have  reached  the  point  in  the  dis- 
cussion where  his  solution  of  the  problem  is  given. 
We  have  recognized,  all  along,  the  antinomy 
between  the  practical  and  the  theoretical  reason. 
The  practical  is  represented  by  the  absolute  I,  which 
posits  itself,  which  will  recognize  no  contradiction, 
which  will  be  all  and  in  all.  Wherever  it  finds 
opposition  to  itself,  it  demands  conformity.  It  will 
lay  down  the  law  for  the  universe.  It  compares 
with  its  own  ideal  the  actual  reality  that  surrounds 
it,  and  demands  that  this  reality  conform  to  it. 
Its  ideal,  being  an  object,  is,  so  far  as  its  form  is 
concerned,  foreign  to  itself;  but,  so  far  as  its  content 
is  concerned,  it  is  one  with  itself.  This  ideal,  as  a 
mirror,  reflects  the  I;  so  that,  when  the  I  surveys  it, 
it  contemplates  itself.  The  I  would  have  the  real 
objective  world  also  as  its  mirror,  so  that  it  may 
find  itself  in  this  as  well  as  in  its  ideal.  This  is  the 
demand  which  it  makes  of  the  universe.  It  is  a 
demand  which  it  makes  without  reason  or  justifica- 
tion. The  only  reason  is  that  this  demand  springs 
from  its  essential  being,  and  it  cannot  go  behind 
that.     When  we  prove  anything,  we  simply  bring 


SOLITIOX    OF   THE    ANTINOMY.  105 

the  statement  we  would  prove,  to  tlie  test  of  the 
fundamental  law  of  our  own  nature;  and  this 
demand  that  the  outward  should  correspond  to  the 
inner,  this  demand  on  the  part  of  the  I  for  absolute 
independence  and  self-assertion,  is  that  fundamental 
nature  which  furnishes  the  test  for  all  else,  but 
which  itself  is  absolute,  admitting  of  proof  or  justifi- 
cation as  little  as  it  admits  of  disproof  or  confuta- 
tion. This  demand  represents  the  practical  reason 
of  Kant.  Fichte  claims  to  have  shown,  as  no  one 
else  had  shown  or  had  undertaken  to  show,  the  real 
nature  of  this  demand  of  the  practical  reason. 
Kant  recognized  the  categorical  imperative,  but  he 
had  not  shown  its  true  nature  or  basis.  Fichte 
claims  to  have  shown  this,  by  recognizing,  as  the 
absolute  postulate,  that  all  things  should  conform  to 
the  pure  I  —  a  postula,te  which  is  based  upon  the  rec- 
ognition, by  the  T,  of  its  absolute  nature,  through 
which  all  is  posited,  or,  if  not,  should  be.  Only 
because  the  I  thus  posited  is  itself  absolute,  has  it 
the  right  to  make  an  absolute  postulate.  Since  this 
is  the  only  possible  basis  of  the  categorical  impera- 
tive, Fichte  claims  that  the  position  of  Kant  must 
have  been,  at  bottom,  the  same  as  his  own  —  that 
Kant  tacitly  recognized  that  infinite  nature  of  the 
I  u^jon  which  Fichte  confessedly  bases  his  philoso- 
phy. Kant  himself  refused  to  recognize  the  identity 
between  his  system  and  that  of  Fichte.  None  the 
less  have  we  reached  the  point  where  the  system  of 
Fichte  touches  most  closelv  that  of  Kant,  and  where 


166       fichte's  sciexce  of  kxowledge. 

he  seeks  to  bring  to  absolute  completion  the  system 
of  Kant. 

Over  against  this  Practical  Reason  —  the  positing 
of  itself  by  the  I,  or  the  demand  for  this  perfect  pos- 
iting of  itself — we  have  the  Theoretical  Reason. 
These  two,  Fichte  has  brought  into  a  sharper  an- 
tithesis than  Kant  had  done.  and.  from  the  nature 
of  his  system,  could  do.  Kant  simply  saw  the  two 
as  distinct,  and  guessed  only  that  they  might  be 
united  in  some  supernatural  unity.  With  Fichte 
the  two  are  antithetical.  We  may  even  call  them 
polar  to  one  another.  The  Practical  Reason  is  the 
positing  of  itself  by  the  I;  the  Theoretical  is  the  pos- 
iting of  that  which  is  not  itself.  The  two,  as  we 
have  seen  so  often,  are  mutually  contradictory  and 
exclusive. 

To  trace  the  antithetical  relation  between  two 
elements  is  the  first  step  to  a  reconciliation.  Two 
elements  that  we  know  simply  as  different,  cannot 
be  harmonized.  We  know  too  little  of  them  and  of 
their  relation  to  one  another  to  know  where  to  look 
for  any  principle  of  harmony.  Wlien,  however,  we 
have  brought  them  into  the  relation  of  a  direct 
antithesis,  then  we  see  that  our  knowledge  of  this 
relation  is  complete  and  final.  We  know  just 
where  to  seek  for  tlie  principle  of  unity.  Moreover, 
we  have  at  least  an  indication  of  the  nature  of  this 
unity.  If  we  have  found  that  A' and  }' stand  in  a 
relation  of  polarity  to  one  another  —  that  is,  a  reha- 
tion  of  direct  and  absolute  antitliesis,  so  that  the  one 
is  simply  the  opposite  of  the  other  —  then  we  know 


SOLUTION   OF  THE   ANTINOMY.  1G7 

that  tlie  one  is  absolutely  dependent  upon  the  other. 
When  we  have  reached  this  point  of  absolute  diver- 
gence, so  that  unity  seems  impossible,  all  at  once 
the  unity  is  reached.  If  A"  is  polar  to  Y,  then  with- 
out A'^  there  is  no  V,  and  without  Y  there  is  no  A^ 
The  positive  and  negative  poles  of  a  magnet,  the 
north  and  south  poles  of  the  magnetic  needle,  are 
directly  contradictory  to  one  another.  We  may 
literally  apply  the  common  phrase  and  say  that  they 
differ  (ofo  arlo,  for  they  point  to  opposite  extremes 
of  the  heavens;  yet  tliey  are  bound  together  as  no 
merely  harmonizing  elements  can  be.  If  A"  and  Y 
stand  in  a  polar  relation  to  one  another,  then  AT  has 
its  real  being  in  F,  and  Y  has  its  real  being  in  JC, 
just  as  the  north  pole  has  its  being  in  the  south,  and 
the  south  pole  in  the  north,  for,  without  A",  1"  would 
be  an  impossibility,  and  the  reverse. 

The  statements  that  have  just  been  made  are 
merely  formal.  We  know  that,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances described,  A'  and  }'  must  stand  in  the 
relation  of  mutual  dependence,  so  that  each  is 
merclv  in  and  through  the  other,  but  we  do  not  see 
the  nature  of  this  relation.  We  know,  however, 
enough  of  the  nature  of  the  practical  I  and  the  theo- 
retical I,  to  take  a  step  further,  and  comprehend  the 
nature  of  their  nnitual  dependence.  The  relation 
between  the  two,  therefore,  is  not  merely  formal  ; 
it  has  a  content  which  we  can  studv.  The  nature  of 
this  relation  we  have  already  seen.  The  I  would 
posit  itself  absolutely:  by  its  ver}'  nature  it  is 
driven  to  do  this.     This  is.  however,  to  demand  an 


168       fichte's  sciexce  of  knowledge. 

impossibility.  The  I  cannot  posit  itself  without 
positing  that  which  is  not  itself,  for  this  positing  of 
itself  is  an  act  of  consciousness;  and  consciousness, 
according  to  Fichte,  is  impossible  without  the  lim- 
itation of  the  Not-me.  We  thus  see  how  the  Practi- 
cal Reason  is  dependent  upon  the  Theoretical.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  Theoretical  Keason  is  equally 
dependent  upon  the  Practical.  The  object  which 
the  Theoretical  Reason,  by  its  vei-y  nature,  recog- 
nizes, would  not  be  recognized  by  it,  if  it  were  not 
for  the  contrast  between  the  object  and  the  ideal 
which  is  demanded  by  the  F'ractical  Reason.  If  the 
world  actually  corresponded  to  the  ideal,  so  that  the 
I  should  find  onl\'  itself  in  it  :  or  if.  on  the  other 
hand,  there  were  no  ideal  with  which  to  compare 
the  actual, —  in  either  case  the  object  would  not  be 
perceived.  The  Practical  Reason  and  the  Theoretical 
Reason  would  be  alike  empty  of  content. 

Thus  that  unity  between  the  theoretical  and  the 
practical  reason,  the  possibilit}'  of  whicli  Kant  rec- 
ognized, Fichte  claims  to  have  found.  This  principle 
of  unity  would  be,  according  to  Kant,  the  supernat- 
ural; with  Fichte,  the  I  is  the  supernatural.  Thus 
the  three  absolutes  which,  according  to  Fichte,  Kant 
recognized  —  namely,  the  Practical  Reason,  the  Theo- 
retical Reason,  and  the  Supernatural  Principle  of 
Unity  —  Fichte  claims  to  have  reduced  to  one.  Tlie 
Principle  of  Absolute  Unity  is  found.  Tliis  unity, 
however,  is  a  postulate  i-ather  than  a  fact;  it  is  con- 
tinually accomplishing  itself,  but  is  never  accom- 
plished.    Thus,  not  only  do  we  have  tlie  three  abso- 


SOLUTION   OF  THE    ANTINOMY.  1G9 

lutes  of  Kant  reduced  to  one;  in  this  one  Absolute, 
we  find  the  source  and  tlie  nature  of  Kant's  Catej^'o- 
rical  Imperative,  and,  throui^h  it,  thatof  tlie  Postulate 
of  Immortality  which  was  based  upon  it  by  Kant. 
The  relation  of  this  solution  of  the  problem  to 
Kant's  Postulate  of  tlie  Divine  Existence  we  shall  con- 
sider later  in  si)eakinj^  of  the  system  of  Fichte  in  its 
theological  aspect. 

From  the  point  which  we  have  I'eached,  another 
characteristic  of  Fichte"s  philosophy  becomes  more 
distinctly  seen  than  was  possible  before.  The  sys- 
tem recognizes  nothing  but  activity.  It  is  purely 
dynamic.  Fui-ther,  this  activity  is  purely  of  the 
spirit.  According  to  the  ordinary  view  of  the  world, 
the  spirit  is  largely  passive.  It  finds  itself  in  the 
midst  of  a  thousand  objects  which  force  themselves 
upon  it.  They  invade  it,  they  control  it,  they 
impress  themselves  upon  it;  and  through  this  im- 
pression of  things  u[>on  the  soul  comes  sensation; 
and  through  sensation  comes  thought.  Then  at  last 
does  the  soul  react  upon  the  outward  world.  The 
initiative,  however,  has  been  all  along  with  the  out- 
ward world.  That  is  the  reality,  upon  which  the 
soul  is  dependent.  The  soul  is  the  wax,  the  outward 
world  is  the  seal:  or  at  best  the  soul  is  the  instru- 
ment which  the  stroke  of  the  oiitward  world  smites 
into  music.  With  Fichte.  all  this  is  dilferent.  The 
soul,  or  the  I,  is  pure  activity.  It  is  nothing  save 
by  its  own  act.  Its  veiy  being  is  the  [tositing  of 
itself;  thus,  through  this  act  alone,  it  has  being. 
Through  this  activity,  it  recognizes  also  the  object. 


170       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

If  it  were  not  for  this  infinite  activity,  there  would 
be  to  it  no  object.  The  lake,  resting  in  the  bosom  of 
the  hills,  might  fail  to  recognize  the  unchanging  circle 
which  shuts  it  in.  The  stream,  however,  if  we  may 
sup230se  it  to  have  any  capacity  for  consciousness, 
cannot  fail  to  recognize  the  rocks  that  stand  in  its 
way,  and  past  which  it  rushes  in  its  impetuous 
course.  The  Me  and  the  Not-rae  —  the  self  and  the 
object  recognized  as  the  opposite  of  the  self — are 
both  the  product  of  the  infinite  activity  of  the  I. 
Should  it  rest,  it  and  its  universe  would  perish  to- 
gether. Rest,  however,  it  cannot.  It  may  become 
more  torpid  than  its  true  being  would  demand,  but 
inaction  is  the  very  opposite  of  itself.  It  must  ever 
press  on,  seeking  the  ocean  which  it  shall  never 
reach. 

Perhaps  some  of  these  last  statements  may  be  so 
far  removed  from  our  common  thought  as  to  be  to 
many  not  merely  incredible,  but  meaningless.  That 
our  knowledge  of  the  outward  world  should  be 
dependent  upon  our  own  activit}^,  and  yet  more  di- 
rectly upon  the  fact  that  we  have  an  ideal  with 
which  to  compare  the  outward  fact,  may  seem  one  of 
the  most  extravagant  utterances  of  Pichte  —  one  of 
the  most  extravagant,  because  it  concerns  that  whicli 
is  so  familiar  in  our  lives  that  its  extravagance  may 
be  distinctly  seen,  while  other  statements  may  have 
seemed  so  far  away  and  vague  that  their  extrava- 
gance is  hardly  noticed.  We  may  have  attached  too 
little  meaning  to  them  to  be  really  surprised  by 
them.     So  far  as  the  relation  of  the  activity  of  the  I 


SOlArTIQN   OF  THE   ANTINOMY.  171 

to  the  act  of  perception  is  concerned,  we  may  perliaps 
be  helped  by  lecognizing  the  fact  that  the  mind  is 
never  passive.  We  are  apt  to  think  of  perception  as 
a  state  of  passivity  in  which  the  mind  is  merely 
acted  upon.  We  often  contrast  this  passive  condi- 
tion of  the  mind  in  perception,  with  its  activity  in 
judgment.  Even  Kant  has  sometimes  been  under- 
stood to  make  this  distinction.  The  mind  is,  how- 
ever, never  more  active  than  in  perception.  Never 
does  it  apply  the  Categories  with  more  authority, 
although  it  applies  them  unconsciously.  By  means 
of  the  Categories,  it  makes  sensation  into  perception. 
It  constructs,  by  the  productive  imagination,  the 
objects  which  it  sees.  Even  sensation  is  not  a  mat- 
ter of  passivity  alone.  The  mind  is  constructive 
even  here.  The  wax  is  simply  receptive  when  it 
takes  the  stamp  of  the  seal.  Such  passive  receptiv- 
ity is  wholly  foreign  to  the  mind.  That  is  pure 
activity.  Tt  may  shape  its  activity  according  to 
some  suggestion  from  without;  but  it  is  active  and 
autonomic  still. 

Even  this  result,  however,  is  only  a  step  towai'd 
the  position  of  Fichte.  According  to  this,  not 
merely  is  the  mind  active  in  perception.  It  is  by 
means  of  the  comparison  between  its  own  ideal  and 
the  objective  reality,  that  this  latter  becomes  an 
oliject  of  consciousness.  Let  us  see  whether  we  can 
attach  any  meaning  to  this  statement. 

The  objector  admits  that  a  contrast  is  necessary  in 
order  that  anything  may  be  consciousl}'  perceived  — 
that  what  we  recognize  is  relation,  and   especially 


172       fichte's  science  of  knowledge, 

change  of  relation.  But  changes  of  relation,  he 
may  urge,  are  taking  place  without  our  act.  The 
world  changes  about  us.  First  one  object  of  the 
environment,  and  then  another,  affects  us.  Sounds, 
colors,  forms,  are  ever  varying.  The  world  is  a 
kaleidoscope  which  is  always  turning;  and  the  trans- 
formations thus  produced  are  sufficient  to  awaken 
our  consciousness,  and  to  give  to  it  a  content,  with- 
out reference  to  that  ideal  which  Fichte  makes 
essential  to  any  consciousness  of  the  objective  world. 
I  will  not  undertake  to  defend  or  maintain  abso- 
lutely the  position  of  Fichte,  but  will  simply  adduce 
one  or  two  familiar  conceptions,  which  ma}'  point  in 
this  direction,  and  show  that  the  position  of  Fichte 
may  be  less  extravagant  than  it  at  first  appears.  I 
will  ask,  then,  What  constitutes  for  us  the  reality  of 
the  external  world?  I  think  that  the  answer  gen- 
erally, if  not  universally,  given  will  be  that  the 
world  has  reality  to  us  through  our  recognition  of 
the  principle  of  Causation.  This  binds  its  parts 
together,  and  makes  it  one;  and  through  this  unity 
it  is  real.  Thus  Kant  claims  that  the  idea  of  causa- 
tion cannot  be  derived  from  experience,  for  experi- 
ence depends  upon  it.  1  ask  next,  What  do  we  mean 
by  causation?  The  ordinary  answer  to  this  question 
would  be  that  it  is  a  manifestation  of  force.  One 
object  acts  upon  another  and  produces  some  change 
in  its  structure  or  condition.  This  is  what  we  mean 
by  causation,  and  this  is  what  we  call  the  manifesta- 
tion of  force.  My  next  question  is,  How  do  we  ob- 
tain the  idea  of  force?     The  common  answer  to  this 


SOLUTION    OF   THE    ANTINOMY,  173 

question  would  be,  that  we  obtain  the  idea  of  force 
through  the  manifestation  of  power  by  ourselves. 
We  are  conscious  of  using  energy.  We,  ourselves, 
produce  change  in  the  objects  about  us.  We  do  this 
consciously,  and  with  a  purpose.  Our  consciousness 
consists  in  the  fact  that  our  purpose  is  not  accom- 
plished merely  by  a  thought — that  we  have  to 
make  an  ettbrt,  greater  or  less.  This  consciousness 
of  effort  is  what  gives  us  the  idea  of  force,  and  thus 
of  a  causation  that  is  something  more  than  mere 
setpience,  however  unvarying  the  stniuence  may  be. 
This  idea  of  force  we  extend  to  the  relation  of  ob- 
jects in  the  outer  world,  and  thus  I'eacli  the  notion 
of  a  universe  that  is  bound  together  by  the  princi- 
ple of  causation.  A  further  question  is.  Why  do  we 
attempt  to  make  a  change  in  the  relation  of  objects 
to  ourselves  and  to  each  other,  and  thus  gain  the 
idea  of  force,  and  that  of  causation?  The  answer  to 
this  question  is,  that  we  seek  to  change  the  relation 
of  objects  because  we  are  not  wholly  satisfied  with 
them  as  they  are.  This  dissatisfaction  with  them  as 
they  are,  implies  the  notion  of  some  possible  dispo- 
sition of  the  objects  about  us  that  would  please  us 
better  than  the  actual  arrangement.  We  have  thus, 
in  some  sort,  an  ideal,  to  which  we  seek  to  make  the 
actual  conform.  This  ideal  is,  however,  so  far  as 
we  have  yet  reached,  very  low  and  very  superficial. 
Still  it  is  a  kind  of  ideal  that  is  always  present 
Avith  us;  and  one  cannot  rest  long  without  being 
moved  by  such  an  ideal  to  some  work  of  change. 
These    ideals    of  which    I    now  speak,  are  low  and 


174       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

superficial,  because  the  suggestion  of  them  comes 
largely  from  the  world  of  objects  itself.  We  have 
little  in  view  save  some  change  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  these;  and  this  new  arrangement  we  shall 
shortly  seek  to  better  in  some  respects.  All  these 
lower  and  superficial  ideals  point,  however,  to  the 
ideals  which  may  be  absolutely  so  called  —  those  of 
truth,  goodness,  and  beauty.  These  differ  from  the 
ideals  just  described,  in  that  they  are  wholly  of  the 
soul.  They  correspond  to  what  Fichte  calls  thetic 
propositions,  in  distinction  from  those  that  are  anti- 
thetic and  synthetic.  Through  these,  the  I  seeks  to 
impress  itself  wholly  upon  the  outward  world,  to 
make  the  outer  world  wholly  conformed  to  itself. 
Through  these,  the  I  seeks  thus  complete  indepen- 
dence and  self-assertion.  These,  however,  are  infi- 
nite, corresponding  to  the  infinite  nature  of  the  I. 

It  was  just  stated  that  the  lower  and  superficial 
ideals  point  to  these  absolute  ones.  It  is  because 
man  cannot  be  satisfied  till  these  higher  ideals  are 
fulfilled,  that  he  pursues  so  restlessly  the  lower 
ideals. 

"The  fiend  that  men  harries 
Is  love  of  the  best." 

It  is  this  love  of  the  best  which  leaves  man  no 
peace  till  the  ideal  of  the  best  has  offered  itself  to 
him  as  the  direct  object  of  pursuit.  When  this  has 
been  fairly  seen,  there  comes  only  with  it  an  inspira- 
tion to  yet  more  unwearied  activity.  The  struggle 
has  now  a  lofty  peace  which  was  before  lacking,  but 
it  allows  as  little  pause. 


SOLUTION    OF   TUK    ANTINOMY.  175 

"Tlie  Lethe  of  Nature 

{'iin't  trance  liini  again, 
Wliose  .soul  sees  the  perfect 
Wliieli  liis  eyes  seek  in  vain." 

The  course  of  thought  which  has  thus  been  fol- 
lowed is  designed  to  lead  the  common  apprehension 
of  the  outer  world  to  something  more  akin  to  the 
position  of  Fichte.  We  have  seen  that,  even  to  this 
common  a[)prehension,  the  reality  of  the  world  is 
found  in  that  of  causation.  Causation  is  another 
name  for  force.  The  idea  of  force  is  gained  from 
the  consciousness  of  our  own  activity  in  regard  to 
the  outward  world.  This  activity  grows  out  of  our 
recognition  of  its  imperfection.  This  recognition  of 
imperfection  springs  from  the  fact  that  we  have  an 
idea  of  something  that  seems  to  us  better  than  the 
actual,  and  these  lower  ideals  point  to  and  suggest, 
if  they  do  not  indeed  imply,  the  highest  ideals. 
Thus,  it  is  through  our  ideals  that  we  reach  the 
recognition  of  the  reality  of  the  external  world. 

By  this  reasoning,  in  which  I  have  assumed  cer- 
tain views  to  be  commonly  held,  and  have  not  ad- 
vanced them  as  those  which  I  should  maintain  with- 
out qualification,  we  have  seen  that  our  recognition 
of  the  reality  of  the  external  world  may  be  shown 
to  be  dependent  upon  the  ideals  according  to  which 
we  shape  our  action.  We  may  take  a  step  further, 
and  affirm  that  it  is  through  our  own  impulse  to 
activity,  and  thus  mediately  through  the  ideal  which 
is  the  source  of  this  impulse,  that  we  recognize  the 
reality  of  the  objects  by  which  we  are  directly  sur- 


176         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

rounded.  The  impulse  to  activity  postulates  the 
reality  of  the  objects  upon  which  we  are  moved  to 
act.  If  we  were  surrounded  by  what  we  knew  to 
be  phantasms  of  our  own  brain,  we  certainly  would 
not  use  physical  powers  to  rid  ourselves  of  the  an- 
noying presence.  We  are  so  constituted  as  to  be 
ever  active.  We  have  ideals  which  we  are  impelled 
to  accomplish.  In  Fichte's  very  interesting  work  on 
the  Vocation  of  ^lan,  and,  indeed,  in  his  ethical  writ- 
ings generally,  he  shows  how  our  belief  in  the  out- 
ward world  is  the  postulate  of  our  active  impulse. 
With  him,  this  active  impulse  assumes  the  form  of 
the  moral  sense,  and  of  the  categorical  imperative 
Avhich  springs  from  this.  Moral  action  differs  from 
other  action,  however,  simi)ly  in  its  purity.  It  is 
the  pure  activity  of  tlie  I  that  is  so  far  independent 
of  any  objective  envii'onment.  This  demands  a 
field  for  itself,  and  we  thus  postulate  the  outward 
realities. 

Yet  further  it  is  true  that  we  receive  our  most 
vivid,  if  not,  indeed,  our  only  real,  notion  of  the 
actual  existence  of  the  things  that  surround  us, 
from  the  resistance  whicli  they  offer  to  our  attempts 
to  modify  them.  ^Vhen  we  undertake  io  do  this,  we 
are  confronted  l»y  the  unyielding  nature  of  our 
environment.  We  are  continually  finding  ourselves 
face  to  face  with  some  obstacle  which  is  either  im- 
movable or  can  be  moved  w'ith  difficulty.  We  can 
here  apply  literally  Fichte's  formula;  namely,  that 
only  through  the  ideal  do  we  reach  the  knowledge 
of  the  real.     Here  we  see  how  our  purpose  outruns 


SOLl'TION    OF   TIIH    AVTINOMY,  177 

our  perlorinaiue,  aiul  thus  shows  us  the  limits  with- 
in which  we  are  conlined,  whieli  otherwise  would 
not  be  i»ereeived  by  us.  Tiius  it  is  to  a  sturdy, 
active  nature  that  tlie  world  seems  most  real.  To  a 
dreamy  and  contemplative  nature,  content  with  the 
inner  realm  of  its  own  thouiflits  and  fancies,  the 
world  might  easily  seem  to  be  more  or  less  of  a 
dream-world. 

By  such  illustrations  we  may  put  a  real  meaning 
into  the  formula  of  Fichte;  namely,  that  without  tho 
ideal  there  would  be  no  real,  as  without  the  real 
there  would  be  no  ideal.  We  must  continually  bear 
in  mind  the  fact  that  the  system  of  Fichte  rests  upon 
this  recognition  of  the  essential  activity  of  the  nature 
of  the  I,  and  of  the  dependence  of  all  things  upon 
that.  There  is  no  relation  recognized  by  the  system, 
that  is  static.  All  is  dynamic.  All  manifests  the 
play  of  tlie  intinite  life,  which  alone  is.  At  the 
same  time,  although  Fichte  himself  uses,  to  some 
extent,  the  kind  of  illustration  just  indicated,  this 
does  not  fairly  represent  his  own  inmost  thought. 
Really  the  only  activity  of  the  I,  which  he  recog- 
nizes, is  tliat  of  positing.  The  onl}'  field  which  is 
open  to  our  thought,  as  we  study  his  system,  is  that 
of  consciousness.  The  absolute  activity  of  the  I  is 
that  of  self-recognition.  This  is  interrupted  by  the 
recognition  of  that  which  is  not  the  self.  This  intro- 
duces the  antinomy  that  has  followed  us  through 
our  whole  study.  The  solution  of  this  antinomy 
is  found  in  making  the  Not-me,  which  interrupts 
self-consciousness,  really  reflect  self-consciousness,  by 
13 


178       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

manifesting  the  nature  of  tlie  I  —  in  other  words,  by 
making  it  conform  to  the  ideal  of  the  soul.  This 
can  never  be  perfectly  accomplished,  for  the  Not-me, 
by  its  very  nature,  remains  the  Not-me.  The  solu- 
tion of  the  contradiction  may  thus,  as  we  have  seen, 
be  always  approached,  but  never  reached.  It  is  a 
postulate,  not  a  reality. 

Since  the  I  thus  demands  a  result  that  can  never 
be  absolutely  accomplished,  we  find  in  it  rather  a 
tendency  than  a  fulfilment.  We  find,  manifested 
by  it,  a  striving  toward  that  which  cannot  be 
reached.  The  only  relation  of  the  pure  activity  of 
the  I  to  any  possible  oliject,  is,  then,  a  stricuKj,  and, 
according  to  what  we  have  already  seen,  an  infinite 
striving.  This  infinite  striving  is  the  condition  of 
the  possibility  of  the  recognition  of  the  objective 
world.  If  there  were  no  striving,  there  would  be 
no  object. 

In  the  thought  of  Fichte,  the  two-fold  activity  of 
the  I,  by  which  alone  the  object  is  posited,  is  of 
fundamental  importance.  If  the  I  could,  by  a  sim- 
ple act,  posit  the  external  world,  the  whole  aspect 
and  meaning  of  life  would  be  different.  We  should 
here  have  the  basis  of  that  form  of  fatalism  which 
may  be  represented  by  the  system  of  Spinoza.* 
This  system  Fichte  considers  to  have  been,  before 
the  critical  philosophy,  the  most  self-consistent  sys- 
tem possible  in  regard  to  the  human  will.  Accord- 
ing to  this,  we  should  recognize  in  finite  beings,  no 
more  activity  than  is  manifested  by  them.     There 

♦  Sammtliche  Werke,  I,  203. 


SOLUTION   OF  THE   ANTINOMY.  179 

could  he  no  infinite  power  of  activity,  because  no 
sucli  pine  activity  manifests  itself.  According  to 
tins  view,  finite  beings  would  be  wholly  finite.  They 
would  be,  once  for  all,  wliat  they  are.  'Jhey  would 
be  wholly  dependent  upon  some  power  outside  of 
themselves.  J}y  this  power  that  is  not  themselves, 
they  would  be  fixed  within  the  limits  in  which  they 
found  themselves.  This  is  because  they  would  have 
no  power  to  enlarge  the  sphere  of  their  being. 
They  would  be  surrounded  by  a  single  line  of  lim- 
itation. If  we  recognize,  however,  as  has  been  done 
in  the  discussion  that  we  have  just  followed,  the  fact 
that  the  positing  of  its  environment  by  the  I  is 
dependent  upon  its  striv'ing  to  realize  something 
which  is  as  yet,  and  may  always  be,  beyond  its 
reach;  if  we  realize  that  without  this  ideal  there 
would  be  for  us  no  real;  without  this  striving,  no 
object;  the  whole  aspect  of  things  changes.  There 
is  introduced  the  element  of  freedom.  Freedom 
becomes,  indeed,  the  basis  and  the  goal  of  all  activ- 
ity. The  limits  within  which  the  soul  finds  itself 
are  no  longer,  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  term,  limits, 
for  it  is  already  beyond  them,  and  is  constructing  a 
world  for  itself  in  the  outlying  regions  of  infinitude. 
Such  a  system  of  fatalism  could  only  avail  in 
regard  to  our  thought  of  God  —  that  is,  of  an  infinite 
being,  which  w'ould  be  in  absolute  accord  with  itself, 
whose  pure  activity  would  involve  the  positing  of 
its  own  being.  Such  a  thought,  however,  is  consid- 
ered by  Fichte  to  be  extravagant  and  unmeaning, 
the  basis  of  his  whole  discussion  being  the  necessity 


180       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

of  this  two- fold  activity;  namely,  that  of  the  real  and 
that  of  the  ideal,  for  any  consciousness. 

On  the  other  hand.  Stoicism,  according  to  Fichte, 
failed  to  recognize  the  limitation  of  the  individual.* 
Therefore  is  the  Stoic  sage  complete  in  himself,  and 
unlimited.  All  the  predicates  are  ascribed  to  him 
that  belong  to  the  pure  I,  or  God.  According  to  the 
ethics  of  the  Stoics,  we  are  not  to  become  like  God, 
but  we  are  God.  Stoicism  is  refuted,  by  showing 
that  it  does  not  explain  the  possibility  of  conscious- 
ness. Between  these  views  stands  the  Science  of 
Knowledge,  recognizing,  as  it  does,  the  two  factors 
of  human  nature,  its  infinite  being,  and  its  finite 
existence. 

The  strivuig,  which  has  been  already  referred  to, 
is  so  important  to  the  whole  system  of  Fichte,  that 
it  demands  a  somewhat  more  careful  consideration. 
This  striving  involves,  by  its  very  nature,  a  certain 
contradiction.  It  is  causality  which  does  not  attain 
to  causality.  If  it  were  not  causality,  it  would  pro- 
duce no  effect,  even  upon  the  consciousness.  It 
would  be  nothing.  But  if  it  actually  attained  to 
causality  —  that  is,  if  it  fulfilled  its  nature  —  it 
would  be  not  a  striving,  but  an  accomplishment. 
We  strive  to  do  that  which  we,  at  least  as  yet,  find 
ourselves  unable  to  accomplish.  The  striving  that  is 
here  spoken  of  is  absolutely  such.  It  is  an  infinite 
striving  —  that  is,  it  can  never  become  transformed 
to  an  accomplishment.     That  which  is  the  object  of 

*Sammtliche  Werke,  I,  278.  Fichte  sccins  not  to  notice  that  with 
the  Stoics,  the  sage,  like  tlie  infinite  I,  was  ideal,  not  actual. 


SOLUTION    OF   THE   ANTINOMY.  181 

the  effort  is  infinite.  It  is  thus  at  every  stage  of 
accomplishiuent  which  may  be  attained,  infinitely 
removed  from  complete  satisfaction.  This  infinite 
striving  is  what  we  have  found  to  be  the  condition 
of  the  positing  of  the  object. 

We  have  thus  found  that  the  I  has  two  forms  of 
activity.  One  we  have  called  infinite,  because  it  is 
aimed  at  that  which  can  never  be  reached.  The 
other  we  have  found  to  be  limited.  It  is  that  which 
we  have  called  the  objective  activity  of  the  I,  because 
it  consists  in  the  positing  of  the  object.  It  is  lim- 
ited because  it  is  objective,  the  object  in  every  case 
forming  or  implying  a  limit.  The  first  form  of 
activity,  which  was  just  named,  should,  by  its  very 
nature,  stand  in  direct  antithesis  with  this  finite 
activity.  If  the  finite  activity  is  objective,  the 
infinite  should  have  no  object.  Indeed  if  it  have  an 
object,  it  cannot  be  infinite. 

We  are  here  met  by  a  contradiction.  This 
infinite  striving,  which  has  been  spoken  of  because 
it  is  a  striving,  is  related  to  an"  object.  It  seeks  to 
accomplish  something,  and  its  object  is  that  which  it 
seeks  to  accomplish.  We  have,  then,  two  objective 
activities,  one  infinite  and  the  other  finite.  The 
very  statement  is  contradictory;  for  an  infinite 
objective  activity  is  inconceivable.  We  have,  then, 
to  ask.  How  can  we  conceive  of  an  infinite  objective 
activity?  or,  what  practically  amounts  to  the  same 
thing.  How  shall  these  two  objective  activities  be 
distinguished  from  one  another? 

Our  first  suggestion  in  regard  to  this  latter  c{ues- 


182        fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

tion  would  be  that  the  finite  objective  activity  of  the 
I  has  to  do  with  the  real  object,  while  the  infinite 
striving  is  directed  toward  an  imaginary  object. 
This  is  certainl}'  true,  but  it  does  not  help  us.  We 
find  ourselves  simply  in  a  circle;  for  if  we  ask  how 
we  shall  distinguish  from  one  another  the  real  and 
the  imagined  object,  we  are  pointed  back  to  the 
activities  with  which  each  stands  related. 

If  one  objective  activity  is  infinite,  it  must  be 
infinite  onh"  in  a  certain  sense,  while  in  another 
sense  it  is  finite.  Further,  since  the  striving  has, 
like  the  objective  activity,  an  object,  the  objects 
must,  in  the  two  cases,  be  of  different  natures.  We 
find  this  difference  in  the  fact  that  the  object  of  the 
finite  activity  is  absolutely  determined.  The  activ- 
ity is  in  turn  determined  by  the  object.  It  is  de- 
pendent upon  it,  and  limited  by  it.  The  ground  of 
the  limitation  of  the  objective  activit}'^ — that  is,  its 
object  —  lies  outside  of  it.  This  object,  because  it  is 
thus  external  and  fixed,  is  called  a  real  object.  The 
infinite  striving  is  not  limited  in  this  way.  It  goes 
beyond  the  limit  which  this  object  would  fix.  It 
does  not  have  to  do  with  the  real  world  which  is 
manifested  by  some  external  activity.  It  has  to  do 
with  a  world  such  as  it  would  be,  if  all  reality  were 
dependent  upon  the  I.  Thus  it  has  to  do  with  an 
ideal  world  which  is  dependent  wholly  upon  the  I, 
and  which  in  no  sense  manifests  the  activity  of  the 
Not-me.  The  fixedness  of  its  object,  then,  distin- 
guishes the  objective  from  the  ideal  activity. 

The  striving  is,  then,  finite,  so  far  as  it  is  directed 


SOLUTION    OF   TnE    ANTINOMY.  183 

to  an  object;  for  every  object  implies  a  limit.  It  is 
at  the  same  time  infinite;  for  in  the  case  of  the  ideal 
object,  the  limit  is  wholly  dependent  upon  the  I. 
The  I  recognizes  no  condition,  except  that  it  must 
set  a  limit  somewhere;  but  it  can  press  this  limit 
into  the  infinite  as  it  will.  The  ideal  involves,  at 
every  moment,  a  limit;  but  this  limit  must  change 
ever}'  moment.  The  absolute  striving  is  infinite; 
but,  as  such,  it  never  comes  to  consciousness;  for  con- 
sciousness implies  reflection,  and  reflection  implies 
determination.  So  soon  as  this  activity  comes  to 
consciousness,  it  becomes  finite.  So  soon,  however, 
as  the  spirit  discovers  that  it  is  finite,  it  enlarges  its 
bounds;  but  so  soon  as  it  asks  whether  it  is  not  now, 
at  last,  infinite,  it  becomes  finite,  and  so  on  forever. 

Thus  the  terms  infi'nite  and  objective  are  contra- 
dictor}'. The  contradiction  cannot  be  removed, 
except  in  a  completed  eternity.  If  the  object  should 
ever  be  thus  pushed  to  infinity,  it  would  be  no 
longer  an  object.  The  idea  of  infinitude  would  be 
realized,  which  is  a  contradiction. 

.  The  idea  of  such  an  infinity  which  is  to  be  accom- 
plished by  us,  does,  in  spite  of  its  unattainableness, 
hover  before  us.  It  is  bound  up  in  our  ver}'  being. 
We  must  solve  the  contradiction,  although  we  can- 
not conceive  its  solution  to  be  possible,  and  though 
we  foresee  that  in  no  moment  of  eternity  can  we 
conceive  it  to  be  possible.  But  this  is  the  stamp 
which  shows  our  nature  to  be  destined  to  eternity.* 

Thus  are  the  contradictions  in  the  I  solved,  so  far 

*  Sammtliche  Werke,  I,  270. 


184       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

as  is  possible.  Tlie  I  is  infinite,  but  merely  through 
its  striving.  If  it  were  not  striving  —  that  is,  if  it 
had  absolute  causality  —  it  would  be  no  I;  it  would 
be  nothing.  Did  it  not  have  this  infinite  striving,  it 
could  not  posit  itself;  for  it  could  recognize  nothing 
over  against  itself.  In  this  case,  again,  it  would  be 
no  I,  and,  therefore,  it  would  be  nothing.  From 
both  these  points  of  view,  therefore,  this  infinite 
striving  is  necessary  to  the  very  being  of  the  I. 

The  striving  which  we  have  thus  considered,  im- 
plies a  resistance.  If  the  I  could  posit  itself  abso- 
lutely, if  it  had  thus  free  scope  for  all  its  activity, 
this  activity  would  not  be  a  striving.  Our  whole 
discussion  involves,  then,  the  idea  of  something  hete- 
rogeneous which  is  found  by  the  I  within  itself.  If 
found  at  all,  it  must  be  found  within^  the  I,  because 
the  I  cannot  go  out  of  itself.  Its  activity  is,  how- 
ever, interrupted;  this  interruption  is  recognized;  it 
is  ascribed  to  the  Not-me,  which  the  I,  therefore, 
posits.  This  being  so,  the  I  must,  in  some  sense, 
have  left  itself  open  for  this  invasion.  It  must,  by 
its  very  nature,  by  the  primal  conditions  of  its 
being,  have  a  place  for  this  heterogeneous  element. 
A  perfectly  smooth  and  hard  ball  would  give  no  op- 
portunity for  the  entrance  of  any  foreign  body.  It 
might  be  broken,  but  then  it  would  cease  to  be  what 
it  was.  The  I  continues  to  be  an  I,  and  yet  finds 
this  foreign  element  within  itself.  It  must,  there- 
fore, of  itself  furnish  the  conditions  for  the  entrance 
of  this  element.  Further,  we  have  seen  that  by  this 
foreign  element,  the  activity  of  tlie  I  that  is  pressing 


SOLUTION   OF  THE   ANTINOMY.  185 

out  into  the  infinite,  is  deflected,  and  turned  back 
upon  itself.  How  came  the  I  by  this  outward-press- 
ing activit}'?  The  I  is  simply  self-affirming;  this 
outward  activity  seems  the  opposite  of  self-affirma- 
tion. What  relation  has  the  one  aspect  of  the  I  to 
the  other?  It  would  seem,  at  the  first  glance,  that 
since  self-affirmation  is  the  fundamental  character- 
istic of  the  I,  the  outward-pressing  activity  must 
hold  a  secondary  position  —  that  is,  that  it  must,  in 
some  way,  be  derived  from,  or  involved  in,  the  self- 
affirmation.     This  we  shall  find  to  be  the  case. 

The  I  posits  itself  absolutely.  This  involves 
simply  a  relation  to  itself.  If  we  think  of  this 
relation  as  an  active  one,  we  can  say  that  the  direc- 
tion of  the  force  of  the  I  is  inward.  In  other  words, 
the  direction  of  its  force  is  purely  centripetal.* 
But  a  centripetal  force  cannot  be  conceived  of  as 
existing  b}^  itself  alone.  In  this  case  we  should 
have  only  a  mathematical  point.  If  the  I  had  only 
this  direction  toward  itself,  it  would  be  what  any 
lifeless  bod)'  is.  The  lifeless  bodies  outside  us  we 
regai'd  as  possessing,  in  some  sort,  each  a  relation  to 
itself.  Each  thus  preserves  its  identity  according  to 
the  formula,  A=A.  This  force  by  which  each  is 
held  together  is.  in  some  sort,  static.  There  is  no 
action  or  reaction.  In  other  words,  the  bodies 
exist  simply  for  us;  they  do  not  exist  for  themselves. 
Each  is  thus  lifeless  and  soulless,  and  no  I.  The  I 
must  not  merely  be  posited  for  others;  it  is  posited 
by  and  for    itself.     It  must  therefore  have  within 

*  Samratliche  Weike,  I,  273. 


186       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

itself  the  principle  of  life  and  of  consciousness. 
Therefore  the  I  must  have  within  it  a  principle  of 
self- reflection.  Thus  we  have  to  regard  the  I  as 
existing  originally  under  two  relations.  It  is  reflect- 
ing and  so  far  the  direction  of  its  activity  is  centrip- 
etal. It  is,  however,  not  merely  reflecting;  it  re- 
flects itself.  It  is  the  object  as  well  as  the  subject  — 
the  material  as  well  as  the  form  of  the  reflection. 
So  far  as  it  is  that  which  is  reflected,  the  direction 
of  its  activity  is  centrifugal.  If  its  activity  were 
merely  centripetal,  it  would  have  nothing  to  reflect. 
So  far,  then,  as  it  is  self-reflective,  the  centripetal 
activity  must  be  complemented  l>y  a  centrifugal. 
The  I  is,  however,  posited  as  containing  all  realities. 
Thus  the  centrifugal  activity  must  be  supposed  to 
be  infinite.  These  two  activities  of  the  I  are  sepa- 
rated only  by  our  own  thought.  In  themselves  they 
exist  as  one,  or  rather  they  would  so  exist  if  this 
harmony  were  not  in  some  way  broken.  Thus,  if 
we  should  strive  to  comprehend  the  divine  conscious- 
ness, this  would  be  possible  only  through  the 
assumption  that  God  reflects  His  own  being.  In 
this  case,  that  which  is  reflected  would  be  all  and 
in  all,  and  that  which  reflects  would  be  all  and  in 
all.  The  consciousness  and  the  object  of  conscious- 
ness could  not  be  distinguished.  Consciousness, 
however,  under  such  conditions,  or  under  such 
lack  of  conditions,  is,  according  to  Fichte,  not  con- 
ceivable by  us.  We  have  in  this  illustration  only 
an    illustration    of  the   relation    of  the  I  to    itself. 


SOLUTION    OF   THE   ANTINOMY.  187 

where  the  I  exists  in  absolute  and  uninterrupted 
completeness,  when  it  would  cease  to  be  an  T. 

But  the  activity  of  the  T,  pressin<^  out,  as  we  have 
seen,  into  the  infinite,  ini|)inges  at  a  certain  point, 
upon  a  limit.  At  this  point  the  activity  of  the  I  is, 
in  part,  reflected.  It  thus  does  not  fill  out  the  infi- 
nite. The  demand,  however,  of  the  I,  that  it  should 
fill  out  infinitude,  remains.  The  question  whether 
this  demand  is  fulfilled,  and  the  discovery  that  it  is 
not,  give  the  possibility  for  the  distinction  between 
the  two  directions.  Thus  the  consciousness  of  the 
centripetal  direction  arises  only  through  this  in- 
terruption, and  we  can  therefore  understand  why 
it  should  be  ascribed  to  some  foreign  element. 

We  have  thus  found  how  the  original  striving 
after  absolute  causality  is  derived  from  the  nature 
of  the  I  itself;  namely,  from  its  tendency  absolutely 
to  reflect  itself.  Hence  comes  the  demand  for  caus- 
ality in  general.  To  use  the  figure  that  we  have 
already  adopted,  we  have  seen  how  the  centrifugal 
activity  of  the  I,  and,  through  this,  the  possibility  of 
the  collision  with  something  that  is  not  Itself,  are 
grounded  in  the  nature  of  the  I.  Further,  the 
demand  of  the  I  to  reflect  itself,  cannot  be  fulfilled 
without  such  interruption.  It  cannot,  indeed,  be 
perfectly  fulfilled  with  it,  for  the  interruption  shows 
that  it  does  not  perfectly  reflect  itself.  Its  activity 
has  been  interrupted;  and,  so  far  as  it  reflects  an 
interrupted  activity,  it  does  not  perfectly  reflect 
itself.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  this  self- reflection 
cannot  really  be  accomplished  in  any  degree  without 


188       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

an  interruption.  The  self-reflection  is  only  actual 
when  the  I  posits  itself  as  self-reflecting,  for  in  this 
self-positing  is  found  the  reality  and  fulfilment  of 
the  self-reflection.  This  positing,  however,  as  we 
have  seen,  cannot  be  effected  by  itself  alone.  The 
Me  cannot  be  posited  without  the  Not-me.  Thus,  in 
this  tendency  of  the  I  toward  absolute  self-reflection, 
we  have  the  source  of  the  centrifugal  activity  which 
gives  the  possibility  to  the  interruption  that  has 
been  described;  and  in  the  demand  for  self- reflection, 
we  have  the  indication  of  the  part  which  this 
impinging  is  to  fill  in  the  accomplishing  of  this 
result. 

We  have  thus  considered  in  their  most  general 
aspects  the  elements  that  enter  into  consciousness, 
and  their  relation  to  one  another.  We  have  found, 
so  far  as  analysis  alone  can  show  us,  what  is  the 
nature  and  source  of  the  absolute  activity  of  the  I. 
We  have  found  the  contradiction  that  is  involved  in 
the  demand  of  the  I  that  it  shall  posit  itself  as  abso- 
lute. This  implies  a  conscious  reflection  which  can- 
not be  accomplished  without  limitation.  This  limit- 
ation must  be  imposed  tipon  the  I  from  without,  for 
it  is  contrary  to  its  nature  to  limit  itself.  This 
limit  is  found  in  that  impinging  which  gives  occa- 
sion to  the  I  for  the  limitation  of  itself.  This  limit 
is  not  the  reality  of  what  we  know  as  object.  Our 
objective  world  stands  in  no  relation  with  it.  The  I 
has  sim2)ly  taken  occasion  from  it  to  construct  the 
objective  world. 

This    limit,    which     is    the    real    Thing-in-itself, 


SOLUTION    OF   THE   ANTINOMY.  189 

involves  also  contradictions.  How  can  it,  being 
foreign  to  the  I,  affect  it?  How  can  the  [  obtain 
any  knowledge  of  Its  existence?  What  can  there 
possibly  be  in  coiumon  between  the  two?  Further, 
the  necessity  of  the  Thing-in-itself  for  the  conscious 
self-retlection  of  the  I,  is  found  in  the  nature  of  the 
I,  It  is  assumed  only  for  the  sake  of  the  I.  We 
can  predicate  of  it,  then,  no  existence  except  in  rela- 
tion to  the  r.  The  I  is  forced  to  recognize  it  by  its 
thought  and  for  its  thought.  It  is  in  thought,  then, 
that  it  is  thus  recognized.  It  is  thus  a  thing  of 
thought.  In  all  this  we  have  to  do  only  with  the  I 
itself.  Thought  is  within  our  own  mind;  and  what- 
ever is  there,  is  of  the  mind  as  well  as  for  it.  If 
thought,  then,  is  dependent  upon  the  Thing-in-itself, 
this  latter  is  dependent  upon  thought.  It  is  assumed 
as  something  foreign  to  the  self,  but  the  very  assump- 
tion makes  it  a  part  of  the  self. 

This  latter  contradiction  may  be  illustrated  at 
greater  length.  We  may  assume  the  notion  A  to 
be  in  the  mind.  This  breaks  up  the  absoluteness  of 
the  I,  and  we  must  seek  a  cause  for  this  interrup- 
tion. We  find  it  in  B.  The  activity  of  the  I,  com- 
ing into  collision  with  B,  is  moved  to  the  modified 
activity  which  produced  A.  li  has  thus  become  a 
thought  of  the  mind,  and  we  must  seek  in  turn  for 
its  occasion,  which  we  may  call  ('.  This  process 
may  go  on  forever.  As  soon  as  we  think  of  any- 
thing as  extra  meuteni,  it  becomes,  by  the  very  act  of 
thinking,  in  mente.  The  Thing-in-itself  is  thus  every- 
where and  nowhere.     We  see  it  before  us;  we  put 


190       fichte's  sciein^ce  of  knowledge. 

our  hand  upon  it,  and  it  is  gone;  yet  again  it 
stands  before  us  as  at  the  first.  On  the  other  hand,  if 
we  can  never  reach  it,  we  can  never  escape  the  ne- 
cessity of  assuming  it.  It  must  always  be  recognized 
as  an  essential  element  in  the  development  of  any 
conscious  nature. 

We  here  find,  in  an  active  form,  that  contra- 
diction which  in  a  fixed  form  has  been  found  in 
Kant.  Kant,  as  we  have  already  seen,  while  deny- 
ing the  validity  of  the  Category  of  Causation  except 
as  connecting  phenomena  among  themselves,  as- 
sumes the  Thing-in-itself  as  the  ground  or  cause  of 
phenomena.  Fichte  recognizes  both  sides  of  the  con- 
tradiction. He  sees  that  the  mind  goes  beyond  its 
right  in  assuming  anything  outside  itself,  yet  that  it 
is  by  its  nature  forced  to  do  this.  He  is  content  to 
let  the  matter  remain  thus,  and  to  find  a  solution 
of  the  antinomy  only  in  a  postulate  that  can  never 
be  fully  satisfied. 

In  fact,  however,  the  idea  of  a  limit  which  may  be 
expanded  but  not  escaped,  is  carried  by  Fichte 
through  all  his  philosophy.  The  nature  of  this 
limit  will  be  discussed  later  when  we  come  to  speak 
of  the  ontology  of  Fichte. 

We  can  now  decide  more  perfectly  than  before 
as  to  the  nature  of  the  system  of  Fichte.  As  we 
have  already  seen,  he  called  it  a  Critical  Idealism. 
He  insists  further  that  it  may  be  called  an  Ideal 
Realism  or  a  Real  Idealism.  In  other  words,  it 
accepts  the  fundamental  dogma  of  both  realist  and 
idealist.     It  is  realistic  in  so  far  as  it  insists  upon 


SOLUTION    OF   THE    ANTINOMY.  191 

the  dependence  of  the  I  for  self-conscinusness  upon 
sometliin^'  foreij^n  to  itself.  It  is  idealistic  in  so  far 
as  it  recognizes  the  iin[)ossibility  of  tliinkinj,'  this 
Thing-in-itself  without  making  it  enter  into  the 
realm  of  the  mind.  It  is  critical  in  so  far  as  it 
recognizes  the  impossibility  of  any  theoretical  solu- 
tion of  this  antinomy;  and  thus,  the  fact  that  the 
only  solution  must  be  a  practical  one. 

We  can  now  see  also  more  distinctly  than  before 
the  inspiration  which  this  system  carried  with  it. 
Where  we  begin  our  career,  it  tells  us,  is  something 
wholly  beyond  our  i)ower  of  determination.  We 
must  begin  somewhere.  We  find  limits  which  we 
must  accept.  To  one  they  may  be  narrower,  to 
another  vaster.  This  is  not  a  matter  of  choice,  and 
thus  it  is  a  matter  of  neither  praise  nor  blame. 
But  while  the  starting  point  is  thus  fixed  for  each, 
the  path  which  each  will  follow  through  all  eternity 
is  subject  to  his  own  will.  Each  is  master  of  him- 
self and  thus  of  his  real  destiny. 

We  understand  also  the  place  which  the  Postulate 
of  Morality  holds  in  the  system.  This  is  the  demand 
for  the  absolute  independence  of  the  I.  It  is  the  de- 
mand that  all  limit  should  be  clone  away  with,  and 
that  the  absolute  nature  of  the  I  should  be  supreme. 
The  demand  that  the  I  shall  become  absolute,  is  not, 
it  must  be  noticed,  a  demand  for  the  independence 
of  the  I  considered  as  an  individual.  Individuality 
implies  limitation.  The  individual  I  becomes  abso- 
lute, only  so  far  as  individuality  is  laid  aside.  That 
the  I  should  become  absolute,  implies  that  it  should 


192        fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

become  one  with  the  Absolute.  It  would  then,  as  we 
have  seen,  cease  to  be  an  I.  The  absolute  I  is  a  con- 
tradiction in  terms;  it  is  something  that  has  never 
been  and  will  never  be.  It  is.  however,  none  the  less 
the  ideal  which  should  be  the  aim  and  the  inspira- 
tion of  every  life,  and  a  life  is  glad  and  triumphant 
as  it  draws  near  to  this.  This  approach  is  indeed  in 
appearance  only.  The  goal  flees  as  we  approach  it. 
It  is  always,  and  through  eternity  will  always  be, 
infinitely  in  advance  of  the  most  earnest  seeker. 
Yet  none  the  less  is  every  advance  a  gain.  Thus 
there  is  open  to  the  soul  a  career  of  joy  and  of 
victory  that  shall  know  no  limit. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  DEDLHTION    OK    PKIKM^^PTION    AND  OTHER 
.MENTAL  PROCESSKS. 

WE  have  now  completed  the  general  analysis  of 
the  elements  that  enter  into  consciousness. 
It  remains  to  make  a  )nore  special  analysis  of  the 
elements  and  processes  that  go  to  make  up  the 
concrete  states  of  consciousness.  It  is  important, 
hefore  entering  upon  this  discussion,  to  understand 
precisely  what  is  attempted,  and  the  method  hy 
which  the  results  are  to  be  brought  about. 

Consciousness  is  taken  as  a  fact.  This  is  given 
to  us  by  experience.  We  cannot  deduce  the  fact  of 
consciousness.  As  Fichte  repeatedly  sa3's,  the  im- 
pinging upon  a  limit  which  makes  consciousness 
possible  is  something  that  could  not  have  been  fore- 
seen. Consciousness  being  given,  we  know  that  this 
impinging  must  have  taken  place.  The  manner  in 
which  tliis  collision  is  inferred  in  order  that  con- 
scioiisness  may  be  possible,  illusti'ates  the  general 
method  which  we  have  to  follow,  llepeatedly  Fichte 
justifies  a  resiilt  in  the  body  of  his  argument,  by 
urging  that  without  it  the  unity  of  consciousness 
could  not  exist.  Consciousness  is  thus  his  only  and 
absolute  datum.  We  are  justified  in  assuming  any 
faculty   or   any  process   which   may   be  seen   to   be 

involved  in  this. 

13  193 


194       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

It  will  be  noticed  that  our  proceeding  is  to  be 
scientific  rather  than  philosophical.  By  this  I  do 
not  refer  to  any  accuracy  in  result  —  for  this  is  to  be 
determined  as  we  advance  —  but  simply  to  the  nature 
of  the  assumptions  made.  We  shall  not  attempt  to 
show  the  necessity  of  these  assumptions  by  any  de- 
ductive process,  based  upon  the  nature  of  the  soul  or 
any  fundamental  idea.  We  recognize  the  fact  of 
consciousness,  and  ask  how  we  can  suppose  it  to  have 
been  produced.  I  have  called  the  method  scientific. 
It  may  be  illustrated  by  the  course  adopted  by 
Darwin  for  working  out  and  defending  his  theory  of 
Development  by  Natural  Selection.  An  animal  is 
found  possessing  a  certain  organ;  how  is  this  organ 
produced?  Objectors  point  to  the  intricate  struc- 
ture, and  challenge  the  naturalist  to  show  how  it 
could  possibly  be  produced  by  the  process  of  natural 
selection.  The  defender  of  the  theory  shows  how 
the  organ  might  have  been  produced.  He  describes 
conditions  which  may  have  existed;  influences  that 
may  have  been  at  work;  a  series  of  changes  that 
may  have  taken  place.  Granting  these,  we  can  wn- 
derstand  how  the  structure  may  have  been  formed. 
All  this,  the  objector  says,  is  a  matter  of  supposi- 
tion; it  cannot  be  proved  that  these  conditions 
existed,  or  that  this  chain  of  transformations  was 
accomplished.  This  proof  is  not  needed.  We  have 
the  result  which  is  beyond  question.  The  natural- 
ist is  sure  that  it  has  been  produced  by  purely 
natural  causes.  He  has  shown  tlie  possibility  of 
conditions  which  would  bring  about  the  end.     He  is 


THE    DEDUCTION    OF    PERCEPTION.  105 

sure  that  eitlier  these  or  others  similar  to  them 
must  have  existed,  for  a  result  exists  that  can  he 
explained  only  in  this  way.  So  Fichte,  starting  with 
consciousness  as  given,  seeks  to  show  the  process  and 
the  powers  by  which  it  is  produced.  He  is  sure  that 
the  content  of  consciousness  is  not  given  by  any- 
thing outside  the  mind.  lie  is  Justified,  then,  in 
assuming  within  the  mind  anything  that  is  needed 
to  produce  consciousness,  and  to  give  to  it  its 
content. 

What  has  been  said  is  as  important  in  its  nega- 
tive as  in  its  positive  aspect.  It  shows  what  we  are 
not  to  expect,  as  well  as  what  we  are  to  expect. 
We  may  miss  the  evolution  of  all  these  processes 
and  conditions  out  of  some  principle  in  which  they 
are  involved.  We  may  miss  the  dialectic  movement 
that  has  been  so  striking  in  much  of  the  discussion 
which  we  have  followed.  It  is  important,  therefore, 
to  know  precisely  what  is  to  be  accomplished. 

It  should  be  added  that  we  shall  here  meet  other 
examples  of  the  mechanical  form  of  presentation 
which,  as  we  have  before  seen,  sometimes,  with 
Fichte,  takes  the  place  of  a  purely  abstract  treat- 
ment. Our  methods  and  results  are  thus  largel}' 
ligurative. 

I.  PERCEPTION. 

The  materials  that  we  have  for  developing  the 
special  elements  of  consciousness  are  the  same  that 
we  have  found  at  every  stage  of  our  discussion.  W^e 
have  the  pure  activity  of  the  I  pressing  forth  into 


196       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

the  infinite.  Tliis,  as  we  have  seen,  impinges  upon 
some  sort  of  limit,  and  is,  in  part,  reflected  back 
toward  its  source.  Let  us  suppose  this  activity  to 
start  from  .1,  which  may  represent  the  inmost  being 
of  the  I,  and  to  meet  the  obstacle  at  C*  It  might 
meet  it  at  a  greater  or  less  distance  from  A^  but  we 
will  consider  it  to  be  at  C.  From  C  the  portion  of 
the  activity  which  we  are  considering,  is  reflected 
back  to  A,  while  a  part  keeps  on  its  original  course. 
The  I  is  still,  in  some  sense,  absolute.  Its  force  can- 
not be  taken  from  it,  nor  even  can  the  direction  of 
its  activity  be  permanenth'  disturbed.  The  activity 
which  is  reflected  from  C  to  A  is  reflected  back, 
therefore,  from  A  toward  C.  Since,  however,  it  is 
the  tendency  of  the  I  to  reflect  upon  itself  and  all 
its  doing,  it  reflects  spontaneously  the  activity  which 
we  have  just  seen  reflected  from  A  to  C,  back  again 
to  A.  We  may,  perhaps,  make  the  discussion  of 
these  rather  complicated  movements  more  easy  by 
giving  special  designations  to  each  of  the  lines  of 
movement  that  have  been  enumerated.  We  will 
call  the  first  movement  of  the  activity  from  .1  to  C, 
a.  The  first  reflected  movement  from  the  obstruc- 
tion at  C  back  to  A,  we  will  call  c.  The  reflection 
from  A  to  (',  we  will  call  a'' ;  and  the  second  move- 
ment back  to  ^1,  the  result  of  the  spontaneous  activ- 
ity of  the  I,  we  will  call  c\ 

It  is  obvious  that  «"  will  meet  c,  and  will  move, 
therefore,  against  an  opposing  tendency.  It  will 
keep  on  its  way  in  spite  of  c,  until  it  is  reflected 

*  Fichte's  Siimmtliche  Wcrke,  I,  227,  et  Bcq. 


THE    DEDUCTION    OF    PKROEPTION.  197 

back  to  A.  This  meeting  of  «"  with  c  forms  the 
great  central  point  of  interest.  It  is  here  that  con- 
sciousness begins.  The  I  is  unconscious  of  c,  for 
this  movement  has  taken  place  simply  as  a  recoil 
from  the  obstruction  at  C.  On  the  other  hand,  c"  is 
the  voluntary  act  of  the  I,  and  is,  therefore,  present 
to  consciousness.  Through  it,  c  will  become  present 
to  consciousness,  but  not  as  if  it  formed  a  part  of 
the  I.  The  movement  of  c  is  in  the  direction  from 
externality.  It  is  thus  met  by  a'',  and  since  it  is,  as 
we  have  seen,  unconscious  action,  it  is  regarded  as 
representing  the  Not- me. 

It  will  thus  be  noticed  that  it  is  not  the  obstruc- 
tion at  C  which  is  represented  under  the  form  of 
the  Not-me.  This  we  have  seen  before,  but  the 
present  statement  may  make  it  more  clear.  All  the 
elements  contained  in  consciousness  are  the  various 
forms  of  the  activity  of  the  I.  The  system  is  so  far 
purely  idealistic,  the  only  hint  of  realism  being  the 
obstruction  at  C,  which  forms,  as  we  have  already 
seen,  a  vanishing  factor  in  the  history  of  the  I.  We 
see  also,  already,  how  the  idea  of  the  Not-me  can 
have  arisen  in  the  mind,  the  returning  activity,  c, 
being  mistaken  for  a  foreign  presence. 

We  will  now  consider  more  carefully  what  takes 
place  at  the  meeting  of  a''  with  c. 

As  we  have  seen,  c  is  regarded  as  the  Not-me, 
and  a'  represents  the  ]\Ie.  We  have  before  seen  the 
difficulty  that  arises  when  we  try  to  understand  how 
it  is  possible  to  conceive  of  the  Me  and  the  Not-me, 
or  of  either  of  them.      We  saw  that  neither  can  be 


198       fichte's  sciexce  of  kxowledge. 

regarded  as  anything  but  the  antithesis  of  the  other. 
Neither  has,  then,  any  significance  apart  from  the 
other,  and  thus  neither  can  be  thought  of  alone.  On 
the  other  hand,  they  cannot  be  thought  of  together, 
for  they  are  mutually  exclusive.  We  saw  further 
that  the  difficulty  was  removed  by  the  suggestion 
that  the  imagination  broadens  the  line  of  separa- 
tion in  which  both  meet,  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  it 
an  object  of  contemplation.  Thu§,  in  this  fictitiously 
broadened  line,  the  two  may  be  regarded  as  if  coex- 
istent, and  thus  the  thought  of  them  is  possible.  In 
this  statement  the  Me  and  the  Xot-me  must  not  be 
regarded  as  extending  before  the  consciousness,  side 
by  side,  and  contemplated  by  the  imagination  in  the 
suppositiously  broadened  boundar}^  line.  Each  ex- 
cludes the  other.  The  boundary  line  is.  therefore, 
not  like  that  between  two  planes,  but  like  that 
between  two  moments.  One  succeeds  the  other  in 
the  consciousness,  and  all  that  was  said  of  the  limit 
must  be  understood  applied  to  the  relation  of  suc- 
cession. 

How  shall  we  understand  this  succession  as  taking 
place?  It  cannot  be  once  for  all,  because  the  Me 
and  the  Not-me  are  apparently  permanently  together 
in  our  consciousiiess.  It  cannot  be,  therefore,  mei'eh' 
the  single  succession  of  the  ^\e  to  the  Not-me,  or  the 
reverse,  because  this  would  be  once  for  all,  and  the 
permanent  result  would  l)e  lost.  It  must,  then,  be 
a  series  of  mutual  successions.  One  of  the  elements 
must  constantly  give  place  to  the  other.  This 
change  must  take  place   with   the  utmost   rapidity, 


THE   DEDUCTION   OF    PERCEPTION.  199 

otherwise  the  aspect  of  permanence  would  be  lost. 
The  result  may  be  compared  to  the  ring  of  light 
which  is  produced  by  the  rapid  movement,  in  a 
circle,  of  the  glowing  point  of  a  rod  of  heated  iron. 
In  the  case  of  the  Me  and  the  Not-me,  the  perma- 
nence and  coexistence  of  the  two  may  be  called  a 
visual  illusion  of  the  same  kind. 

The  active  power  in  this  pi'ocess  is  the  imagina- 
tion. This  vibrates  with  inconceivable  rapidity  from 
the  Me  to  the  Not-me,  and  back  again  to  the  Me. 
This  is  the  primitive  function  of  the  imagination. 
It  is  the  first  stage  of  the  process  through  which 
the  objective  world  is  constructed  by  it.  This  func- 
tion of  the  imagination  is  presented  by  Fichte  under 
various  forms.  Besides  that  just  given,  it  is  some- 
times regarded  as  marking  the  relation  between  the 
infinite  and  the  finite  forms  of  tlie  I.  Especially 
does  it  mark  the  process  by  which  the  I  advances, 
through  the  removal  of  the  limit,  which  is,  however, 
at  once  succeeded  by  another.  The  imagination 
takes  the  limit  into  itself,  sees  it  as  within  the  I,  not 
without  —  as  belonging  to  the  Me  rather  than  to  the 
Not-me.  No  sooner  is  this  done  than  the  Not-me, 
under  the  form  O'^  a  limitation,  meets  it  again.  This 
vibration  of  the  imagination,  Fichte  regards  as  fur- 
nishing the  basis  for  the  notion  of  time;  namely,  the 
succession  of  instants,  each  being  witliout  duration. 

We  have  seen  that  rr,  moving  toward  C, 
meets  c  and  advances  under  this  opposition  until, 
as  r\  it  is  refiected  back  to  A.  We  have  thus 
two    movements    in    the    same    direction;    namely. 


200       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

c  and  r'.  The  question  meets  us,  How  are  these 
to  be  distinguished  ?  We  have,  before,  marked  lines 
of  activity  by  their  direction;  but  here  the  direc- 
tion of  both  is  the  same,  and  yet  each  is  to  be  dis- 
tinguished from  the  other.  Why  do  they  not  flow 
together  and  become  one  movement?  Let  us  illus- 
trate the  matter  in  a  still  more  materialistic  man- 
ner. Suppose  that  we  have  two  streams  of  water 
flowing  in  the  same  channel  and  in  the  same  direc- 
tion, how  will  it  be  possible  to  discover  that  we  have 
two  currents  instead  of  one,  and  to  distinguish  which 
belongs  to  each?  Let  us  suppose  that  one  of  the 
currents  becomes  frozen  as  soon  as  it  reaches  our 
point  of  observation,  and  is  carried  forward  as  ice. 
In  this  case  we  could  distinguish  very  easily  between 
the  two  streams. 

Something  like  this  is  what,  in  the  thought  of 
Fichte,  happens  to  c.  This,  proceeding  from  C,  and 
thus  appai'ently  representing  the  external  world,  is 
regarded,  as  we  have  seen,  as  the  Not-me;  while  a* 
is  seen  to  be  purely  subjective.  The  imagination, 
shaping  out  of  c'^  the  form  of  objectivity,  vibrates, 
as  we  have  seen,  between  the  Me  and  the  Not-me. 
Everything  is  thus  changeful  and  fluctuating.  That 
anything  should  become  permanent,  the  product  of 
the  imagination  needs  to  be  discriminated  and  fixed. 
The  discrimination  is  the  work  of  the  reason;  the 
medium  for  the  fixatio^i  is  the  understanding. 

The  use  of  the  term,  understanding,  in  this  con- 
nection seems  to  be  very  little  in  accoixl  with  the 
ordinary  definition  of  it  by  j^^ychologists;    it  may, 


THE   DEDUCTION   OF   PERCEPTION.  201 

however,  be  not  \vl10ll3'  forei<fn  to  the  use  of  the 
word  in  common  speech.  Ft  may  represent  the 
common  sense  that  holds  fast  to  the  reality  of 
things,  reu^arding  the  world  as  a  solid  fact;  and  that 
brings  new  phenomena  into  relation  with  this  real 
world,  solidifying  and  crystallizing  all  into  one 
permanent  whole.  The  name  of  the  faculty  would 
seem  to  imply  some  such  meaning  as  this.  It  is 
that  which  stands  under  and  forms  the  basis  of  the 
world  which  we  create,  wliih;  wo  believe  that  it  is  a 
world  which  we  have  found.* 

We  have  thus  indicated  the  nature  of  percep- 
tion. We  have  seen  a'  meet  c.  This  is  the  activity 
of  the  I  meeting  what  it  regards  as  the  Not-nie. 
The  imagination  hovers  between  the  two,  until  this 
process  ceases  because  the  results  of  the  imagina- 
tion have  become  fixed  in  the  understanding.  Then 
c",  in  the  form  of  this  solidified  result,  is  borne  back 
to  .1.  Thus  we  see  that  c  represents  the  object  of 
perception,  while  (/''  and  r'^  represent  the  conscious 
elements  of  perception. 

At  the  meeting  of  a'^  and  r,  we  have  at  first  a 
conflict  of  activities.  These  are  in  equipoise,  for,  as 
we  have  seen,  r'  is  reflected  back  spoHtaiicoKsli/  by 
the  I.  This  collision,  in  which  neither  element 
yields  to  the  other,  suggests  to  the  consciousness  the 
element  of  matter  which  enters  into  perception. 
Matter,  according  to  Fichte,  is  ])recisely  this  equi- 
poise between  conflicting  forces.  This,  as  well  as 
the   results  of  the  productive   imagination,  is  fixed 

*S;iinnitlicho  WiTku,  I,  2.3.3. 


202        fichte's  sciexce  of  knowledge. 

in  the  understanding.  The  one,  matter,  is  the  fixa- 
tion of  that  hovering  of  the  imagination  which  we 
have  alread}'  described  as  taking  place  between  the 
Me  and  the  Not-me;  while  the  other  is  the  fixation 
of  the  results  of  its  productive  activity.  Thus  is 
seen  the  whole  work  of  the  imagination  in  percep- 
tion. The  pause  in  its  vibration,  leaving  tlie  op- 
posing forces  in  equipoise,  furnishes  the  basis  or 
material  of  the  objects  of  perception,  while  its  pro- 
ductive activity  gives  to  them  their  form. 

We  have  now,  even  at  the  cost  of  some  re])etition, 
to  make  more  distinct  the  manner  in  which  the  objects 
of  perception  obtain  the  appearance  of  externality. 
All  that  we  have  seen  has  taken  place  within  the 
mind  itself.  It  is,  however,  regarded  as  opening  to 
the  thought  a  world  which  lies  outside  of  the  mind. 

To  assist  in  this,  we  must  return  to  the  1wo 
forms  of  the  activity  of  the  I.  The  one  is.  as  we  have 
seen,  unlimited ;  the  other  is  limited,  or  objective. 
Both  of  these  belong  to  the  I;  the  I  is  one.  How, 
then,  shall  we  find  any  relation  between  these  two 
that  shall  not  introduce  discord  into  the  I  itself?  In 
the  act  of  perception  we  suppose  a  pure  activity 
outside  the  I  and  ojjposed  to  its  activit}'.  We  have 
in  this  the  relating  element  that  we  need.  So  far 
as  we  regard  the  activity  of  the  I  as  not  limited  by 
this  outer  activity,  it  is  pure.  So  far  as  we  regard 
it  as  limited  by  this  outer  activity,  it  is  objective.* 
Thus  we  think  of  each  in  relation  to  this,  and  the 
discord  between  the   two  is  removed.      It  is  c  that 

*SainmtIiclR' Werkc,  I,   ."Wt  |(;^lllul^is^',  etc.). 


THE    DEDUCTION    OF    PERCEPTION.  203 

represents  to  tlie  mind  this  outer  activity.  Tlio 
whole  process  of  the  reiloction  of  c  is  unconscious. 
Its  results  are  found  by  us,  and  we  think  that  they 
are  produced  for  us  i-ather  than  by  us.  We  thus 
regard  them  as  representing  something  foreign;  and 
the  activity  which  thc\'  represent  is  excluded  from 
the  mind.  Here,  then,  something  separates  itself 
from  the  I  as  if  belonging  to  another  world.* 

By  an  addition  to  these  various  forms  of  reflec- 
tion which  perhaps  were  already  sufficiently  intri- 
cate, Fichte  supposes  a  part  of  the  activity  of  the  I 
to  press  beyond  (\  and  not  to  be  reflected  except  in 
a  philosophic  reflection.")"  This  suggests  a  percep- 
tion that  is  not  perceived,  a  vague  and  undefined 
"somewhat"  that  we  regard  as  the  Thing-in-itself, 
and  upon  which  we  believe  the  forms  perceived  at 
the  meeting  point  of  r<^  and  c  to  be  dependent. 

We  have  seen  that  the  material  basis  of  the 
objects  of  perception,  the  substance  of  which  they 
consist,  represents  the  mutual  ntmtralization  of  the 
activities  that  we  have  called  r  and  a''  respectivel}', 
in  regard  to  which  the  vibration  or  hovering  of  the 
imagination  has  ceased,  and  the  result  of  which  is  pre- 
served in  the  understanding.  The  subjective  con- 
dition corresponding  to  this  is  sensation.  This 
implies  something  given.  In  other  words,  it  is  ac- 
companied by  a  feeling  of  restraint.  A  sensation 
is  produced  necessarih',  and  we  cannot  escape  from 
it.  It  is,  however,  something  within  ourselves.  It 
represents,    from    the    inside,    the    meeting    of   the 

*  Siimmtliclu'  Wcrkc.  I.  3'?<»,  3-20.    t  SaiiK-,  I,  235. 


204       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

opposed  activities.  It  is  thus  the  most  general  sub- 
jective condition  of  perception,  just  as  matter,  that 
has  already  been  described,  may  be  regarded  as  the 
most  general  objective  condition. 

We  have  already  found  the  two  forms  of  the 
activity  of  the  ego  —  the  absolute  or  free,  on  the  one 
side,  and  the  objective  or  limited,  on  the  other  —  to 
enter  into  all  the  processes  which  we  have  consid- 
ered. They  must  be  blended  in  the  act  of  percep- 
tion. They  are,  by  their  very  nature,  opposed;  and 
yet  they  must  be  united  by  some  form  of  synthesis. 
The  free  activity  of  the  I  is  directed  toward  itself, 
the  objective  toward  that  which  is  not  itself.  The 
first  form  of  activity  is,  then,  wholly  inward  and 
self-aflFecting;  this  implies  freedom.  The  other  has 
reference  to  the  external,  and  implies  constraint. 
Freedom  and  constraint,  then,  are  to  be  united.  This 
can  only  be  done  by  an  act  through  which  the  inner 
yields  itself  freely  to  the  influence  of  the  outer. 
The  relation  between  this  constraint  and  this  free- 
dom is  thus  illustrated;  the  spontaneous  retlection 
can  only  take  place  on  condition  of  an  impinging 
upon  something  foreign,  but  it  is  not  obliged  to 
reflect  even  under  this  condition.  Thus  freedom 
and  necessity  are  blended  in  every  act  of  complete 
and  conscious  perception. 

We  thus  see  that  perception  consists  of  a  two- 
fold relation  of  activity  and  passivity.*  15oth  the 
subject  and  the  object  must  be  both  active  and  pas- 
sive.    80  far  as  the  subject  is  active,  the  object  is 

*  Sammtliche  Werke,  I,    229  ct  seq. 


THE    DEDUCTION    OF    PERCEPTION.  205 

passive.     So  far  as  the  object  is  active,  the  subject  is 
passive. 

We  are  here,  it  should  be  remarked,  takinj^'  per- 
ception for  what  it  offers  itself,  involving  a  real  sub- 
ject and  a  real  object.  The  object  is  passive  so  far 
as  it  is  an  object;  it  is  active  so  far  as  it  atfects  the 
subject.  'J'he  subject  is  active  so  far  as  attention  is 
turned  toward  the  object,  and  so  far  as  the  object 
is  made,  apparently,  the  bearer  of  subjective  con- 
ditions; and  passive  so  far  as  it  is  affected  by  the 
object. 

II.  TIIOUGIIT. 

We  have  now  to  consider  further  these  two,  the 
object  and  the  subject,  in  their  relation  to  one 
another.  Each  of  them  possesses  two  activities:  the 
one  directed  toward  itself,  by  which  it  is  what  it  is, 
or  by  which  it  maintains  itself  as  it  is;  the  other 
directed  from  itself,  by  which  it  aftects  others. 
Since  consciousness  is  one,  all  the  elements  that  en- 
ter into  it  must  be  united  by  mutual  determination; 
otherwise  diversity  and  discord  would  be  introduced, 
and  the  imity  of  consciousness  destroyed.  The  ele- 
ments that  thus  enter  into  consciousness  are  the 
subject  and  the  object,  each  with  its  double  activity. 

The  activity  of  the  I  which  is  directed  toward 
itself,  is  its  absolute  activity,  that  by  which  it  affirms 
itself.  The  objective  activity  of  the  I  is  determined 
by  the  absolute  activity,  because  upon  this  depend 
all  the  activities  of  the  I.  On  the  other  hand,  in 
the  act  of  perception  the  self-affection  must  be  seen 


206       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

to  conform  to  the  nature  of  the  object.  We  have 
thus  the  subject  rounded  into  a  distinct  whole. 
It  goes  out  from  itself  and  it  returns  to  itself. 
It  is  thus  self-related  as  well  as  related  to  an 
object. 

The  same  relation  is  found  to  exist  between  the 
activity  and  the  passivity  of  the  object.  That,  too, 
is  found  to  have  a  relation  to  itself — otherwise  it 
would  not  be  an  object  —  and  on  this  depends  the 
activity  which  brings  it  into  relation  with  the  sub- 
ject.    It  affects  the  subject  as  what  it  is. 

The  subject  and  the  object  thus  stand  over 
against  one  another,  each  a  complete  whole,  and 
each  standing  in  relation  with  the  other.  The  pro- 
cess of  discrimination  which  we  have  thus  described 
is  what  we  know  as  Thought.  It  is  the  primal  act  of 
thought,  that  which  is  the  condition  of  all  other 
thinking.  The  perceiver  determines  himself  to 
think  an  object.  So  far  as  the  object  is  determined 
through  this  act  of  thinking,  is  the  object  thought.* 

We  have  seen  tiiat  the  object  is,  by  this  process 
of  thought,  regarded  as  having  a  relation  to  itself; 
that  is,  as  being  a  distinct  object  conforming  to  the 
formula,  ^1=^-1.  It  thus  determines  itself  to  its 
relation  to  the  subject.  It  is  thus  regarded  as 
giving  rise  to  an  activity  which  affects  the  subject. 
If  there  were  no  passivity  in  the  perceiver,  we 
should  have  no  right  to  assume  the  unity  of  the  ob- 
ject, and  the  activity  that  proceeds  from  it;  on  the 
other  hand,  if  there   were  no  such  activity  of  the 

♦  Siimintlicho  Werke,  I,  240. 


TllK    DKDrcTIUN    OF    I'KKCKI'TION.  207 

object,  there  would  be  no  passivity  of  the  subject. 
Tlie  object  is  thus  thouj^ht  of  as  tlie  cause  of  the 
passivity  of  the  subject;  and  the  passivity  of  tiie 
subject  is  re«^arded  as  the  etiect  of  this  inner  activ- 
ity of  the  object.  This  inner  activity  of  the  object 
is  merely  something  tiuit  is  thought.  It  has  no  other 
reality.  If,  therefore,  we  give  to  it,  as  we  cannot 
lielp  doing,  an  outer  substratum,  this  we  call  a 
Noumenon. 

III.    THE    POWER   OF   JUDGMENT,   AND    ITS  RELATION   TO 
TIIK    INDERSTANDING. 

The  object  of  perception  which,  as  we  have  seen, 
is  separated  from  the  perceiver  and  rounded  into 
a  distinct  whole,  must  be  further  discriminated. 
There  must  be  a  (Icjinite  object  of  i)erception.  An 
object  becomes  thus  definite  only  as  it  is  distin- 
guished from  something  else.  This  power  of  dis- 
tinction possessed  by  the  subject  depends  upon  a 
certain  freedom  of  activity.  The  objective  activity 
of  the  I  is  determined  by  an  activity  which  is  more 
general  —  which,  while  it  is  aimed  at  an  object  in 
general,  is  aimed  at  no  object  in  particular.  The 
activity  of  the  subject  may  thus  be  directed  toward 
either  A  or  — ^1.  This  activity  is  thus  free,  either 
to  reflect  A,  abstracting  it  from  — ^1,  or  the  re- 
verse.* Such  an  activity  hovers  between  A  and  —A, 
just  as  the  imagination  hovers,  as  we  have  seen, 
between  the  Me  and  the  Not-me.  Since  there  must, 
however,  be  a  distinct  object  of  thought,  either  A  or 

♦  Siimmtliche  Wcrko,  I,  241. 


208       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

—  A  becomes  fixed  as  such.  As,  however,  we  have 
found  that  the  limit  between  the  Me  and  the  Not- 
me  is  broadened  and  preserved  in  such  a  manner 
that  the  Me  and  the  Not-me  may  be  seen  in  their 
relation  to  one  another,  so  in  this  case,  although  A 
instead  of  — ^Ijhas  been  made  an  object  of  thought; 
or  the  reverse,  each  is  still  seen  in  relation  to  the 
other.  A,  for  instance,  if  it  is  the  one  chosen,  is  not 
seen  merely  as  A,  but  as  ^1  over  against  — A.  On 
the  other  hand,  while  .1  is  thought,  —A,  from  wiiich 
we  have  abstracted,  is  considered  over  against  A  as 
merel}"  thinkable;  thus  A  and  —A  ai'e  blended  in  a 
new  view,  according  to  which  each  is  determined  by 
the  other.  This  power  of  blending  A  and  —.1  in 
a  relationship  in  which  each  is  determined  by  the 
other,  and  in  which  the  nature  of  the  relation 
depends  upon  the  fact  that  one  has  been  selected  to 
be  thought,  and  the  other,  by  abstraction,  left  as 
merely  thinkable,  is  called  the  power  of  judgment. 
In  other  words,  an  act  of  jadgment  always  implies  a 
selection  —  something  is  affirmed  over  against  some- 
thing that  is  denied.  IJoth  that  which  is  affirmed 
and  that  which  is  denied  are  by  tlie  very  act  of 
affirmation  and  denial  seen  in  relation  to  one  an- 
other. The  affirmation  and  denial  are,  indeed,  only 
diflFerent  sides  of  the  same  act. 

We  have  now  to  consider  the  relation  of  the 
power  of  judgment  to  the  understanding.  It  will  be 
remembered  that  the  understanding,  with  Fichte,  is 
that  common  sense  which  takes  the  creations  of  the 
imagination    as    real;     in    which    the    Not-me    has 


THE    DKDUCTION    OF    PEUCEPl'lON.  309 

become  fixed  in  relation  to  the  Me,  and  whicli  is 
thus  the  suhjective  substratum  of  the  objective 
workl. 

From  what  has  been  said,  it  follows  that  tho 
judtfiuent  and  the  understanding'  are  mutually  de- 
pendent upon  oiu'  another,  'i'he  judj^ment  athrms 
A  or  — y1  in  rcdation  to  material  that  is  already 
embodied  in  the  solid  world  of  the  understanding. 
A  judgment  is  represented  by  a  proposition,  and  the 
proposition  may  serve  to  illustrate  the  point  that  is 
before  us  at  present.  The  subject  of  the  proposition 
is  something  that  is  accepted  as  real.  We  hesitate 
which  predicate  to  apply  to  it.  This  hesitation 
is  what  Fichte  describes  as  the  hovering  or  vibrat- 
ing of  the  judgment  between  two  possibilities.  As 
soon  as  the  judgment  is  fairly  determined,  then 
the  grammatical  subject  takes,  in  connection  with 
the  predicate  that  is  now  associated  with  it,  the 
place  in  the  world  of  the  understanding  which  it 
formerly  occupied  by  itself.  We  recognize,  for 
instance,  the  reality  of  dohn,  but  we  doubt  whether 
he  is  an  American  or  an  Englishnum.  After  some 
hesitation,  we  settle  it  that  he  is  an  Englishman. 
Henceforth  the  Englishman,  -lohn,  is  as  real  a  part 
of  our  world  as  dolin  was  before  we  knew  his 
nationality.  It  is  in  this  way  that  the  world  of 
the  understanding  is  built  up.  It  is  continually  be- 
coming enlarged  by  the  results  of  fresh  judgments. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  judgment  presupposes  the 
world  of  the  understanding.  If  there  w^ere  no 
grammatical  subject,  there  could  be  no  predicate;  and 
14 


iilO       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

the  subject  exists  in  that  solid  world  of  fact  from 
which  we  start  in  our  reasoning.  Thus  without 
the  understanding  the  judgment  would  be  impossi- 
ble, and  without  the  judgment  there  would  be 
no  understanding.  The  two  are  thus  mutually 
dependent. 

IV.  THE  KEASON. 

The  thinker  stands  in  the  same  relation  to  the 
thinkable,  that  the  perceiver  stands  in  to  the  per- 
ceivable. So  far  as  the  thinker  considers  anything  to 
be  thinkable,  the  thinkable  is  passive.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  thinkable  is  such  by  its  own  nature,  and 
thus  the  thinker  'm  forced  to  regard  it  as  such;  so 
far  the  thinker  is  passive.  We  have  not  found, 
therefore,  any  absolute  ground  of  determination. 
We  do  not  know  on  which  side  is  the  initiative. 
We  still  move  in  a  circle.  From  one  element  we 
are  driven  back  to  the  other.  We  need  to  find  a 
point  of  absolute  departure.  We  need,  therefore,  to 
take  a  step  further  in  order  to  bring  out,  in 
its  most  simple  form,  the  relation  which  we  are 
studying. 

The  power  to  abstract  from  any  particular  ob- 
ject implies  the  power  to  abstract  from  all  objects. 
This  power  must  be  perceived,  or  must  in  some  way 
be  brought  to  consciousness.  The  imagination  liov- 
ers  between  object  and  no  object.  It  is  fixed  to 
have  no  object.  That  is,  the  imagination,  which  is 
regarded  as  the  creator  of  the  objects  that  fill  our 
consciousness,  is   wholly  suppressed;    and  this  sup- 


THE    DEDUCTION    OK    PEItCEl'TION.  211 

prest^ion,  tlii.s  non-exi.stencc  of  the  imagination,  be- 
comes itself"  the  object  of  a  va<,'ue  consciousness. 
The  dim  notion  that  we  have,  when  for  the  sake  of 
l)ure  thouj^lit  we  try  to  abstract  from  all  minglinj,' 
of  tiie  i Ml a<,a nation,  is  somcthinj^  that  is  not  unfa- 
miliar to  the  tliinker.  This  i)roduct  must  be  fixed, 
like  all  others,  in  the  understandin^f.  But  it  is 
nothin<f.  It  is  no  object,  and,  therefore,  it  cannot  be 
thus  hxed.  This  may  be  illustrated  by  the  vague 
thought  of  a  relation  which  is  considered  without 
regard  to  any  real  or  possible  members  of  the  rela- 
tion. There  remains,  thus,  only  the  bare  law  of  the 
reason  which  deinauds  this  perfect  abstraction  —  a 
law  that  can  never  be  perfectly  fulfilled,  so  far  as 
any  distinct  consciousness  is  concerned.  This  power 
of  perfect  abstraction  is  what  we  mean  by  reason. 

V.  TUE  HIGHEST  ACT  OF  ABSTRACTION,  AND   TIIE    FINAL 
RELATION  OF  THE  NOT-ME  TO  TIIE  I. 

When  everything  else  is  removed,  the  T  at  least 
remains.  We  here  meet  the  I  and  the  Not-me  in 
their  most  abstract  relation  and  contrast.  Each  is 
what  the  other  is  not.  If  the  I  determines  only 
itself,  it  determines  nothing  outside  itself;  if  it 
determines  anything  outside  itself,  it  does  not  deter- 
mine itself.  We  now  see  that  the  I  is  that  which 
remains  after  every  object  has  been  removed  through 
the  power  of  absolute  abstraction;  and  the  Not-me 
is  that  from  which  we  abstract  in  order  to  reach 
the  Me. 

We  have  thus  reached   the    source    of  self-con- 


312       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

sciousness,  which,  when  thus  recognized,  can  never  be 
mistaken.  Everything  from  which  I  can  make 
abstraction,  everything  that  I  can  exclude  from  my 
thought,  is  not  myself;  and  I  contrast  it  with 
myself  precisely  through  this,  that  I  regard  it  as 
something  that  I  can  exclude  from  my  thought.  It 
is  not  necessary  that  all  the  elements  of  the  Not- 
me  should  be  together  excluded  from  my  thought. 
At  one  moment  I  may  exclude  A,  B  still  affecting 
my  consciousness;  at  another  moment  I  may  exclude 
jB,  a  still  remaining;  through  these  acts  both  A  and 
B  are  as  truly  shown  to  belong  to  the  Not-me,  and 
thus  to  be  foreign  to  myself,  as  if  they  had  been 
together  excluded  by  a  single  mental  act.  The  more 
any  individual  can  thus  separate  from  himself,  the 
nearer  does  his  empirical  consciousness  approach 
pure  consciousness.  The  process  begins  with  the 
child,  who  for  the  first  time  leaves  his  cradle, 
and  thereby  learns  that  the  cradle  is  not  a  part 
of  himself;  and  the  process  continues  till  we  reach 
the  position  of  the  transcendental  philosopher,  who 
at  last  faces  the  problem  of  thinking  the  pure  self. 

The  fact  that  the  I  is  that  from  which  nothing 
further  can  be  abstracted,  is  the  reason  why  the  I 
is  regarded  as  a  unit. 

We  have  thus  the  I,  representing  that  from 
which  nothing  further  can  be  abstracted;  and  we 
have  the  Not-me,  representing  all  from  which  it  is 
possible  to  abstract.  These  two  stand  each  over 
against  the  other.  They  stand  in  relation  to  one 
another,  because  the    one   is  the  antithesis  of  the 


THE   DEDUCTION   OP   PERCEPTION.  213 

other.  One  must  determine  the  other;  that  is, 
thei'e  must  be  some  relation  of  dependence  by  which 
one  of  tlie  two  is  bound  to  the  other.  This  is 
obvious  from  the  fact  that  whatever  we  dwell 
upon  to  the  exclusion  of  something  else  is  seen  in 
relation  to  that  wliich  is  excluded,  and  tliat  every 
affirmation  involves  such  exclusion.  This  principle 
holds  good  in  the  relation  between  the  Me  and  the 
Not-me,  oven  in  the  extreme  result  of  abstraction 
which  we  are  here  considering.  There  is  seen,  even 
here,  to  be  a  relation  between  the  two;  and,  since 
relation  implies  some  form  of  dependence,  one  of 
these  elements  must  be  dependent  upon  the  other. 

This  dependence  cannot,  as  was  the  case  in  the 
forms  of  the  relation  which  we  have  heretofore 
studied,  be  mutual,  for  each  is,  by  the  process  of 
abstraction,  separated  from  the  other.  They  touch 
only  at  a  single  point,  namely,  that  of  their  anti- 
thetical or  exclusive  relation  to  one  another.  There 
is,  therefore,  no  circle  as  before.  There  is  depend- 
ence, but  not  mutual  dependence.  The  one  that 
determines  the  other  must  remain  absolutely  unde- 
termined. 

If  we  fix  our  thought  upon  the  T,  to  the  exclusion 
of  the  Not-me,  the  I  will  seem  to  contain  all  reality. 
Its  opposite  is  nothing  positive;  it  is  mereh'  the  Not- 
me.  Thus  the  Not-me  is  wholly  determined  by  the  I, 
which  is  in  no  respect  determined  by  it.  If  we  make 
the  Not-me  our  positive  element,  then  the  I  will  be 
simply  its  negation.  The  I  will  be  wholly  deter- 
mined by  it.  and  will  not,  in  any  degree,  determine 


214       fichte's  sciexce  of  knowledge. 

it.  Thus  each  is  regarded  as  infinite,  according  to 
our  point  of  view.  The  antithesis  which  has  fol- 
lowed us  thus  far  assumes,  then,  this  form,  that  if 
the  one  is  infinite,  the  other  is  finite,  and  the 
reverse. 

This  antithesis  is,  according  to  Fichte,  the  source 
of  the  antinomies  of  Kant.*  These  antinomies  rep- 
resent the  strife  between  the  reason  and  the  under- 
standing. The  world  of  the  understanding  is,  in 
one  aspect,  too  large  for  the  reason,  and  that  of  the 
reason  too  small  for  the  understanding.  In  other 
words,  the  reason  represents  the  I  as  laying  down 
the  law  for  the  universe.  The  understanding  rec- 
ognizes the  universe  as  rebelling  against  this  law. 
The  reason  demands  limit,  in  order  that  the  universe 
may  be  a  whole,  and  thus  of  such  a  nature  that  it 
can  conform  to  its  ideal.  The  understanding,  on 
the  other  hand,  regards  the  universe  as  endless,  as 
by  no  possibility  forming  a  whole,  and  thus  as  by  no 
possibility  embodying  an  ideal.  In  the  one  case,  the 
universe  is  infinite;  in  the  other,  the  I  is  infinite. 

We  may  find  another  illustration  which  is  lielj)- 
ful,  if  not  quite  so  complete  as  that  which  we  have 
considei-ed,  in  the  familiar,  but  always  striking,  pas- 
sage of  Kant  in  which  he  compares  tlie  starry 
heavens  above  and  the  moral  law  within.  When 
he  looks  upon  the  heavens,  the  universe  seems  to 
stretch  into  infinitude,  while  man  and  the  world 
upon  which  he  finds  himself  seem  to  shrink  into 
nothingness.     Wlien,  on   the  other    hand,  he    looks 

♦Saninitliche  Werke,  I,  -^40. 


TIIK    DKDUCTION    OF    PERCEPTION.  2lb 

with  in,  and  recognizes  the  sublimity  of  the  moral 
law,  he  feels  himself  to  be  the  memljer  of  a  spiritual 
universe,  compared  with  which  the  j)hysical  universe 
is  as  nothing. 

We  may  illustrate  this  princii)le  still  farther,  by 
the  statement  of  Herbert  Spencer,  at  the  close  of  his 
First  Principles,  which  has  already  been  referred 
to  in  another  connection:  "  jVfanifostly,"  he  says, 
"the  establishment  of  correlation  and  equivalence 
between  the  forces  of  the  outer  and  the  inner  worlds, 
ma}'  be  used  to  assimilate  either  to  the  other,  accord- 
ing as  we  set  out  with  one  or  other  term." 

When,  however,  we  remember  that  the  I  is  the 
absolute  determining  power,  that  there  is  nothing 
within  the  bounds  of  its  knowledge  that  does  not 
exist  for  it,  that  the  material  world  exists  for  it 
and  only  in  its  consciousness,  and  that  from  this 
world  of  consciousness  there  is  no  escai)e.  we  see  that 
the  dilemma  which  we  have  been  contemplating  can 
be  determined  in  only  one  wny.  We  see  that  the  I 
stands  in  relation  only  with  itself,  and  is  one  with 
itself.  This  is  a  position  from  which  no  merely  the- 
oretical philosophy  can  escape.  A  practical  philoso- 
phy may  bring  us  into  relation  with  spiritual 
reahns,  which  transcend  our  single  lives;  but 
whether  we  use  the  methods  of  the  theoretical  or 
the  practical  reason,  we  are  alike  freed  from  any 
subjection  to  the  material  universe,  considered  only 
as  such. 


CHAPTER  X. 

DEDUCTION   OF   THE   WORLD   OF   OBJECTS,  AND 
ITS   RELATION  TO   THE   ACTIVITY   OF   THE   I. 

WE  have  thus  examined  the  phenomena  of  per- 
ception. We  have  traced  the  steps  by  which 
the  object  and  the  subject  become  discriminated 
from  one  another,  and  the  varying  relafions  in 
which  they  stand  to  one  another.  The  treatment 
has  been  large  and  generaL  We  have  the  outline 
of  a  world,  but  not  the  world.  We  have  tJie  thing, 
as  such;  we  have  not  tlihigs.  We  have  now  to 
examine  the  process  by  which  the  objective  world  is 
broken  up  into  the  world  of  objects. 

I.  THE  LONGING  FOR  CHANGE. 

We  must  turn  back  for  a  moment  to  the  consid- 
eration of  the  tendency  which  we  have  found  to 
exist  in  the  I  to  an  infinite  activity,  which,  failing  of 
its  end,  is  reflected  back  upon  itself.  It  has  failed 
of  its  original  end;  therefore,  it  is  a  striving,  and 
not  causation.  The  I,  however,  tends  not  mereh' 
to  activity  in  relation  to  the  external  world;  it  has 
also  an  impulse  to  reflection  —  that  is,  to  self-con- 
sciousness. This  fact  opens  another  field  for  the 
energy  that  fails  to  reach  its  original  goal.  Tt  can- 
not   be   wholly  lost.     If   it   cannot   manifest   itself 

21G 


DEDUCTION    OF   THE    WORLD    OF    OIUECTS.    217 

outwardly,  it  may  and  must  manifest  itself  in- 
wardly. 

Suppose  two  elastic  balls*  to  be  pressed  together. 
Each  strives  to  fill  itself  out  to  its  true  form,  but 
each  is  resisted  by  the  other.  If  the  resisting  force 
of  either  is  increased,  the  force  of  the  other  is  rela- 
tively weakened,  and  the  first  invades  the  limits  of 
the  other  to  a  greater  extent  than  it  is  invaded  by 
that.  If  the  two  forces  are  in  e<iuilil)i-ium,  the 
impression  produced  upon  the  one  is  precisely  simi- 
lar to  that  produced  upon  the  other.  We  have  here 
the  relation  of  the  Me  and  the  Not-me  as  it  appears 
at  the  first  glance.  We  have  in  each  ball  an  activity 
that  fails  of  its  end.  We  have  thus  in  each  a  striv- 
ing such  as  we  found  in  the  I.  ]5ut  now  comes  the 
great  ditference  which  we  have  elsewhere  recognized. 
The  lifeless  body  has  no  causality  except  outside 
itself.  If  this  causality  fails,  it  fails  altogether. 
The  r,  on  the  other  hand,  lias  also  a  causality  in 
relation  to  itself.  Its  nature  is  to  posit  itself,  to 
reflect  upon  itself.  The  activitv.  then,  which  fails 
to  produce  the  outwai'd  result,  produces  an  inner 
result.  If  it  cannot  produce  an  act.  it  must  pro- 
duce a  feeling.  We  thus  see  the  absolute  antithesis 
between  nature  and  spirit.  There  is  a  hiatus  be- 
tween the  two;  we  pass  from  one  to  the  other  by 
no  transition  —  only  by  a  leap.f 

We  have  now^  to  ask.  What  is  the  nature  of  the 
feeling  that  is  thus  produced?  That  of  which  the 
I  is  conscious  in  this  feeling,  is  itself.     This  is  obvi- 

♦Siiinmtliclie  Werkf,  1,  2!t-3.  +  Same.  1,  '298. 


218       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

ous  from  the  nature  of  all  feeling.  It  is  the  nature 
of  the  I  to  be  both  subject  and  object.  However  the 
fact  may  be  concealed  b}'  the  appearance  of  exter- 
nality in  any  object  of  consciousness,  the  I  can,  in 
reality,  have  no  object  but  itself.  In  the  case  before 
us,  this  semblance  of  objectivity  does  not  exist.  The 
I  is  conscious  of  itself  as  itself.  It  is  conscious  of  its 
own  striving  toward  an  end  which  cannot  be  accom- 
plished. This  striving  is  something  which  is  bound 
up  in  the  very  nature  of  the  I.  It  is  the  impulse 
that  represents  its  essential  activity.  This  activity 
is  one  which  has  no  complete  object,  but  yet  is  irre- 
sistibly driven  to  pursue  an  object.*  Tlie  I  cannot 
fully  picture  to  itself  this  object,  and  thus  recognize 
it  under  its  perfect  ideal  form.  The  pressure  of  this 
inward  force,  so  far  as  its  origin  and  its  end  are  con- 
cerned, is  thus  unconscious,  but  it  manifests  itself  to 
consciousness  in  its  actual  existence.  The  feeling 
which  corresponds  to  this  striving  is  that  of  long- 
ing. By  longing  is  meant  an  impulse  toward  some- 
thing imperfectly  known;  an  impulse  which  reveals 
itself  by  a  sense  of  need,  by  a  dissatisfaction,  by  an 
emptiness  that  demands  satisfaction  and  knows  not 
whence  this  satisfaction  may  be  procured. 

If  the  activity  of  the  I  were  not  restrained,  we 
should  have  no  longing,  but  we  should  have  caus- 
ality. On  the  other  hand,  if  the  I  were  not  con- 
scious of  this  sense  of  longing,  it  would  not  feel 
itself  to  be  limited.  It  is  through  this,  therefore, 
that  we  arrive  at  the  idea  of  an  external  world.     In 

♦Sammtliche  Werke,  I,  302. 


DEDUCTION^   OF  THE    WORLD   OF   OBJECTS.    219 

longing  there  is  a  sense  of  limitation  which,  it  is 
believed,  must  have  its  ground  in  the  Not-me.  The 
object  of  the  longing — that  which  the  striving  would 
accomplish  if  it  could  —  we  call  the  ideal.  That 
which  stands  in  the  way  of  the  fulfilment  of  this,  we 
call  the  real.  As  we  have  before  seen,  each  of  these 
is  brought  to  consciousness  through  the  other. 

II.    THE  OBJECTIVE   WORLD. 

We  have  now  to  ask,  What  is  the  result  of  the 
ideal  activity  of  the  I  which  is  manifested  through 
the  longing  which  we  are  considering? 

The  longing  of  the  I  looks  for  some  result  in  the 
real  world;  reality  manifests  itself  to  the  I  only 
through  a  feeling;  thus  the  longing  is  directed 
toward  a  feeling.  The  I  has  already  a  feeling 
which  we  will  call  A'.  The  feeling  A'  is  not  the 
longed-for  feeling;  if  it  were,  the  I  would  not  feel 
itself  limited,  and  would  not  be  conscious  of  a 
longing;  indeed,  would  not  be  conscious  of  itself 
at  all,  for  consciousness  springs  onl}^  from  the  sense 
of  limit.  The  desired  feeling  is  just  the  opposite  of 
A",  namel}'  —A'.  The  object  which  corresponds  to 
the  feeling  A'  we  will  call  ,/•;  that  which  must  be 
present  if  the  feeling  —A' shall  exist,  we  will  call  — .r. 
The  conscious  aim  of  the  I  is  to  replace  x  by  — .r. 
Now  could  the  object  ,r  be  itself  felt,  it  would  be 
sufficient  to  replace  it  by  the  object  — .r,  which  it 
might  perhaps  be  easy  to  do.  But  this  is  impossible, 
because  the  I  never  feels  an  object,  but  only  itself. 
It  can  produce  the  object  only  through  ideal  activ- 


220        fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

ity,  that  is,  by  a  process  of  thought.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  the  I  could  produce  in  itself  the  feeling 
—X,  then  it  would  be  able  to  compai-e  the  feelings 
with  one  another,  to  note  their  diiferences,  and  to 
represent  them  in  objects  which  should  be  consid- 
ered the  ground  of  each  respectively.  But  the  I 
cannot  directly  excite  any  feeling  in  itself.  If  it 
could  do  this,  it  would  have  a  power  of  causation 
which  is  foreign  to  its  nature. 

The  two  feelings,  X  and  —X,  are  wholly  opposed. 
Through  the  one,  the  I  feels  itself  bound;  through 
the  other,  it  seeks  to  escape  from  the  bondage. 
Through  the  one  feeling,  that  of  limit,  the  I  has 
reached  to  the  knowledge  of  itself.  It  has  in 
thought  determined  and  circumscribed  itself.  In 
this  act  of  reflection  it  is  absolutely  self-deter- 
mining. 

Against  this  sense  of  limit  the  tendency  to  out- 
ward activity  and  enlargement  is  directed.  This 
tendency  is  an  impulse  toward  modification.  It 
would  modify  something  that  is  outside  the  I,  and 
that  is  recognized  through  the  sense  of  limit,  and 
through  feeling  in  general.  This  tendency  is  op- 
posed by  the  object  upon  which  it  would  act.  The 
activity  of  the  object  is  independent  of  the  I  and 
its  longings.  It  goes  its  own  way,  and  follows  its 
own  laws,  just  as  the  I  takes  its  course  and  is  gov- 
erned by  its  laws.  This  opposition  makes  it  im- 
possible for  the  longing  perfectly  to  fulfil  itself.  It 
cannot  affect  the  object  as  it  would;  or  at  least  it 
cannot  affect  it  in   the  degree   in  which   it  would. 


DEDUCTION    OF   THE    WOULD   OF    OBJECTS.    221 

We  have  that  sense  of  limitation  that  has  been  so 
often  referred  to. 

It  must  be  noticed,  however,  that  this  limitation 
is  not  regarded  as  springing  from  the  fact  of  a 
material  universe.  It  is  not  the  external  reality,  as 
such,  that  restrains  the  activity  of  the  I.  This  mate- 
rial element  cannot  be  done  away  with.  If  it  were 
removed,  the  equipoise  would  be  disturbed,  and  the 
I,  losing  all  power  of  reflection,  would  cease  to  be 
an  I.  It  is  not  the  fact,  but  the  form  of  this  mate- 
rial element,  which  the  longing  would  have  changed. 
If  the  world  could  be  somewhat  differently  arranged, 
we  feel  that  we  should  be  satisfied.  A  readjustment 
is  all  that  we  desire. 

HI.    THE   WORLD  OP  OB.TECTS. 

In  order  that  this  desire  for  readjustment  may 
exist,  we  need  to  recognize  about  us  not  merely  an 
objective  world,  but  a  world  of  objects.  The 
environment  must  be  broken  up  into  distinct 
things.  These  things  and  their  rearrangement  or 
reconstruction  can  alone  offer  a  field  for  the  activity 
of  the  I.  We  must  now  see  how  we  reach  the  idea 
of  this  world  of  objects. 

In  entering  upon  this  discussion  it  must  be 
remembered  that  with  Fichte  these  separate  objects 
do  not  really  represent  separate  things.  We  have 
only  the  world  of  thought  and  the  world  of  feeling. 
It  is  from  the  world  of  feeling  that  the  ideal  activity 
of  the  I,  under  the  form  of  the  productive  imagi- 
na-tion,  constructs    the    objective  world.     We  have 


222        fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

further  to  recognize  the  fact  that,  though  terms  are 
often  used  by  Fichte  that  would  imply  a  real  change 
in  the  objective  world  —  and,  indeed,  such  language 
cannot  be  avoided  —  yet  really  the  only  world  with 
which  we  have  to  do  is  that  of  consciousness.  The 
only  activity  of  the  I  is  ideal  activity.  What  the  I 
determines,  it  determines  in  its  thought.  It  must 
think  the  Me  according  to  the  law  of  its  own 
thought.  It  must  think  the  Not-me  according  to 
the  same  law. 

We  have  first  to  notice  how  the  I  thinks  itself. 
When  the  I  beholds  itself,  it  does  not  seek  to  modify 
itself.  It  has  a  concept  of  itself  wliich  it  regards  as 
true.  It  has  a  real  image  of  the  self  which  it 
regards.  The  self  which  it  beholds  it  finds  to  be 
both  the  determiner  and  the  determined.  It  is  what 
it  is  through  its  own  nature.  It  is,  therefore,  an 
individual,  and  distinct  from  all  else.  This  indi- 
vidual it  calls  the  I. 

When  it  turns  to  the  external  world,  it  would 
stand  in  the  same  relation  to  it  as  to  itself.  It 
would  see  it  as  it  is.  It  would  simply  perceive.  In 
this  act  of  percejition  it  would,  further,  apply  the 
same  standard  which  it  applied  to  the  contemplation 
of  itself.  It  would  find  in  the  Not-me  the  same 
characteristic  which  it  found  in  itself,  and  which 
was  essential  to  this  inner  perception.  The  external 
object  must  also  be  an  individual.  It,  too,  must  be 
at  once  determiner  and  determined.  In  other 
words,  it  also  must  be  what  it  is,  from  its  own 
nature.     It  must  be  what  it  is  because  it  is  what  it 


DEDUCTION    OF   THE    WOULD    OF   OHJE(TS.    223 

is.  Whatever,  iu  any  object,  is  not  the  effect  of 
itself  is  reifarded  as  caused  by  something  else.  Wo 
do  not  regard  this  as  belonging  to  the  thing,  but 
ascribe  it  to  something  foreign.  That  whicii,  in 
any  process,  determines  without  being  determined, 
we  call  a  cause.  That  which  is  determined  merely, 
is  the  effect.  Only  that  whicli  stands  in  relation 
with  itself,  as  at  once  cause  and  effect,  do  we  call  a 
thing.  This  standard  of  reality  is  taken  thus  from 
the  I,  and  extended  to  external  objects. 

Thus  do  we  find  in  the  I  itself  an  a  priori  law  by 
which  it  ascribes  a  unity  and  simi)licity  to  every 
object  of  its  contemplation.  We  find  this  law 
illustrated  even  in  the  simplest  sensations  which 
form  the  ground  of  all  our  perceptions.  Sweet  or 
bitter,  red  or  yellow,  each  is  identical  with  itself; 
each  is  a  single  sensation  differing  from  all  others, 
and  not  to  be  resolved  into  any  others. 

The  question  may  arise.  How,  in  the  light  of 
what  has  been  said,  is  the  T  to  be  distinguished 
from  the  Not-me?  Each  is,  in  the  sense  that  has 
been  described,  causa  sui,  and  is  thereby  an  indi- 
vidual. The  difference  is  that  the  I  has  the  power 
of  self-reflection.  When  it  thinks  of  itself,  it  is 
subject  and  object  alike.  When  it  thinks  of  the 
Not-me,  it  is  the  subject  only.  The  Not-me  can 
never  be  subject  ;  it  is  always  object.  Thus  it  is 
that  the  I  and  the  Not-me  are  absolutely  distin- 
guished from  one  another. 

It  has  been  stated  that  the  I  perceives  itself  as 
both   the   determiner    and   the    determined.     This, 


224        fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

taken  absolutely,  is  rather  an  ideal  than  a  fact. 
Practically,  it  finds  that  this  self-determination  is 
limited.  There  is  a  point  where  it  is  itself  deter- 
mined from  without.  It  finds  within  itself  an 
effect  of  which  it  is  not  the  cause.  This  effect  it 
ascribes  to  something  foreign  to  itself.  The  sub- 
jective becomes  changed  to  the  objective. 

This  change  of  the  subjective  to  the  objective 
may  be  illustrated  by  the  simplest  sensations. 
What  we  call  sweet  or  sour,  red  or  yellow,  no  one 
will  deny  to  be  purely  subjective.  We  can  only 
say,  I  have  such  or  such  a  sensation.  But  others 
claim  also  to  have  the  sensation  of  sweet  or  sour, 
and  the  rest.  Since  each  appeals  only  to  his  own 
feeling,  how  do  we  know  that  the  sensations  are 
similar?  How  do  we  know  that  sugar  produces  a 
like  taste  in  all  ?  We  associate  the  sugar  with  a 
fixed  taste  which  is  purely  subjective,  but  which,  by 
this  determination,  we  have  made  objective.  In 
other  words,  we  give  objective  validity  to  our  sub- 
jective sensation.  What  is  an  accident  of  ourselves, 
we  make  into  an  accident  of  a  thing  w^liich  lies  out- 
side ourselves. 

We  thus  reach,  from  a  different  point  of  view, 
the  idea  of  matter,  which  serves  us  as  a  substratum 
upon  which  may  be  overlaid  our  sensations,  as  we, 
in  the  manner  described,  give  to  them  an  existence 
extra  menteiii.  That  matter  is  a  creation  of  our 
own  thought  might  have  been  suspected  from  the 
fact  that  we  make  no  other  use  of  it  than  that 
which  has  been  described.     If  it  is  anything  really 


DEDUCTION    OF   THE    WOULD   OF   OBJECTS.    325 

outside  of  us,  we  should  come  to  the  knowledge  of 
it  by  some  one  of  the  senses,  Hut  the  senses  give 
us  merely  subjective  sensation.  This  matter  is 
neither  seen,  nor  tasted,  nor  smelled.  Some  one 
unused  to  abstract  thought  may  suggest  that  it  is 
known  to  us  by  the  sense  of  touch,  through  the 
resistance  that  it  offers.  But  this  resistance  is 
merely  a  sense  of  inability  that  is  purely  subjective. 
Touch,  in  general,  reaches  only  to  the  surface  of  a 
body,  and  gives  us  a  sense  of  roughness  or  smooth- 
ness, of  cold  or  warmth,  and  the  like.  Why  do  we 
extend  the  cold  or  warmth  over  the  whole  surface, 
and,  especially,  why  do  we  extend  it  in  our  thought 
to  the  interior  of  the  body  which  is  unapproachable 
by  us?  All  this  shows  that  what  we  call  matter  is 
the  product  of  the  imagination.  Yet  we  consider  it 
something  wholly  external,  and  with  right,  because 
all  agree  in  the  recognition  of  it,  and  the  production  of 
it  takes  place  according  to  a  universal  law  of  reason. 

Both  the  facts  which  we  have  considered  unite  to 
make  of  the  I  .an  individual.  If  it  were  not  self- 
determining,  it  would  not  be  an  individual,  for  it 
would  have  no  being  of  its  own.  If  it  were  abso- 
lutely self-determining,  it  would  not  be  an  indi- 
vidual, but  would  be  infinite. 

We  have  now  to  turn  to  the  world  of  objects, 
and  apply  to  this  the  principles  which  we  have 
applied  to  the  I.  We  have  seen  that  the  object 
must  be  self-determining  ;  but  for  it,  also,  this  self- 
determination  must  not  be  absolute.  It  also  must 
15 


226        fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

have  a  limit,  or  it  would  not  be  an  object.  We  have 
now  to  see  how  the  perception  of  this  limit  is  reached. 
The  I  contemplates  an  object,  A^,  or,  in  the 
phrase  of  Fichte,  it  determines  it  ideally.  The  I  is, 
however,  by  its  nature,  self-conscious,  and  must, 
therefore,  contemplate  its  own  act.  This  is  not 
possible  without  breaking  oif  from  the  contempla- 
tion of  A',  for  the  reason  that  its  activity  cannot  be 
directed  upon  more  than  one  thing  at  once.  In 
reflecting  upon  itself,  then,  the  I  breaks  otf  from  its 
determination  of  A'.  This  it  does  with  absolute 
spontaneity,  but.  at  the  same  time,  with  absolute 
unconsciousness.  From  this  act  comes  the  appear- 
ance of  a  limit  to  the  object.  By  the  law  of  its 
nature,  the  I  must  thus  break  otf  from  its  determin- 
ation of  A';  but  no  law  prescribes  to  it  the  point  at 
which  it  shall  break  off.  A^  may  extend  to  B  or  to 
C.  We  will  say  that  the  act  of  the  I  in  relation  to 
it  is  broken  off  at  C.  X  seems,  therefore,  to  be 
limited  at  C ;  or  the  I  seems  to  be  determined  by  it, 
or  to  be  impressed  by  its  special  nature.  The 
breaking  off  was  a  free  act  on  the  part  of  the  I,  and, 
if  it  had  been  conscious  of  its  act,  this  limit  would 
be  considered  accidental  in  regard  to  itself.  As  it 
is,  it  is  considered  a  matter  of  chance  in  regard 
to  the  object.  It  is  regarded  as  accidentally  limited 
by  some  other  object,  which  is  as  yet  unknown  to 
us.  We  see  here  how  the  unconscious  act  of  free- 
dom on  the  part  of  the  subject  gives  rise  to  the 
recognition  of  what  we  call  the  accident  of  the 
object.     The    limit   at    C   is    merely   felt,   and    not 


DEDUCTION    OF   TIIK    WORLD    OF   OBJECTS.    227 

perceived.  As  we  have  seen,  liowever,  the  I  freely 
posits  this  limit,  and  what  is  thus  posited  must  be  a 
matter  of  perception  and  not  of  feeling.  There  is, 
however,  no  relation  between  feeling  and  perception. 
Perception  sees,  but  it  is  merely  empty  and  formal. 
Feeling  is  related  to  reality,  but  it  is  blind.  Yet  the 
two  must  be  united  by  some  form  of  synthesis.  In 
other  words,  the  I  must  limit  A"  freely,  but  in  such  a 
way  that  A'  shall  seem  limited  by  itself.  This  is 
done  by  the  positing  over  against  A',  at  the  i)oint  C, 
another  object,  which  we  will  call  1";  this  1'  must, 
in  its  tui'n,  be  self-dependent  and  self-determining; 
that  is,  it  must  be  a  thing.  It  miast  limit  X,  and  be 
limited  by  it.  Each  is  thus  affected  by  the  other. 
We  cannot  think  of  the  two,  however,  as  if  they 
were  one,  for  their  relation  to  one  another  is  merely 
partial  and  superficial.  Ever}^  point  of  A'  stands  in 
relation  with  every  other  point  of  A'.  This  is  also 
true  in  the  case  of  )'.  But  not  every  point  of  Y 
stands  in  relation  with  every  point  of  A';  and  the  re- 
verse. A"  and  1' must  mutually  e.xclude  one  another, 
while  they  yet  stand  in  relation  to  one  another. 

IV.  SPACE. 

In  what  has  been  said,  A'  and  Y  have  been  consid- 
ered merely  as  objects.  They  have  been  regarded 
as  intensive,  not  as  extensive.  Each  is  simply  what 
the  other  is  not.  We  may  regard  them,  however, 
as  standing  to  one  another  often  in  certain  outward 
relations.*     These  we  will  now  consider.     We  will 

*  Sammtliclie   Werke,  I,  391,  et  scq.  (Grundriss,  etc.). 


228        fichte's  scie]s"ce  of  knowledge. -» 

regard  them,  no  far  as  they  are  objects  of  perception, 
in  space  and  time.  Here,  as  before,  we  find  that  the 
peculiar  characteristics  of  A"  are  not  due  to  Y,  and 
the  reverse.  They  simply  serve  to  make  perception 
possible,  by  means  of  the  distinction  of  one  from  the 
other.  The  perception  of  A' is,  in  some  way,  depend- 
ent upon  that  of  1'.  All  the  relation  that  we  sup- 
pose to  exist  between  them  is  that  of  mutual  exclu- 
sion. There  must,  however,  be  for  both  some  sort 
of  determination,  by  which  they  can  stand  to  one 
another  in  the  relation  described.  This  cannot  be 
the  result  of  the  inner  nature  of  these  objects,  for 
each,  as  we  have  seen,  is  wholly  dependent  upon  the 
other.  It  must,  therefore,  be  merely  external.  It 
is  not  posited  by  any  perception  of  the  I,  for  it  is 
the  condition  of  all  perception.  For  the  sake  of 
convenience,  we  will  designate  this  condition  of  per- 
ception as  S.  We  will  call  the  manner  in  which  X 
is  related  to  S,  x;  and  that  by  which  Y  is  related  to 
S,  we  will  call  //.  }",  as  we  have  seen,  is  posited  in 
order  to  make  the  perception  of  A'  possible,  through 
limitation.  A^  is  thus,  in  some  sense,  conditioned  by 
Y.  The  relation,  however,  is  merely  one  of  nega- 
tion. It  is  of  this  nature:  }",  being  united  to  .S'  by 
//,  A'  is  excluded  from  //.  Further,  because  )"  limits 
A',  A"  will  begin  where  Y  ceases.  Thus,  there  is  an 
unbroken  continuity.  This  exclusion,  and  this  con- 
tinuity, are  not  possible,  unless  both  A"  and  }"  are  in 
some  sphere  which  is  common  to  both.  The  condi- 
tion, S,  may  be  regarded  as  representing  this  s{)liere. 
S  must  be  of  such  a  nature  that  the  free  activity  of 


DEDUCTION"   OF   TIIK    WOULD   OF   OIUECTS.    2'29 

the  objects  is  undisturbed  b\'  it.  and  y(!t  each  must 
be  s^'iithetically  united  with  it.  .S'  can,  tlierefore, 
have  no  power,  no  activity;  otherwise  it  would,  by 
action  and  reaction,  interfere  with  the  free  working 
of  the  ()l)ject.  Activity,  however,  is  the  mark  of  real- 
ity. .S,  therefore,  can  have  no  reality,  ft  is  nothintf. 
As  Y  is  not  affected  by  //,  so  is  //  in  no  sense  a 
product  of  the  activity  of  )'.  The  one  stands  only 
in  a  synthetic  relation  with  the  other;  therefore  we 
can,  in  our  thouj^ht,  distinguish  one  from  the  other. 
JJy  this  synthesis  A'  is,  however,  excluded  from  //,- 
tlierefore  is  //  the  sphere  of  the  activity  of  )'. 
From  all  that  has  l)e(ni  said,  it  will  appear  that  //  is 
only  this  s})here,  that  is,  that  it  has  no  other  reality, 
and  no  other  attribute  than  that  which  we  have 
seen.  It  is  simply  that  the  activity  of  Y  excludes 
from  ij  all  activity  but  its  own.  We  have  seen  that 
the  activity  of  A'  is  excluded  from  //  by  )';  we  have 
seen  further  that  the  activity  of  A'  is  not  affected  by 
that  of  Y;  therefore,  A'  can  have  no  tendency  to 
occupy  //.  If  it  had  such  a  teiulency,  the  exclusion 
would  limit  its  freedom.  Thus  A' and  I' have  merely 
an  accidental  and  external  relation. 

In  all  this  the  1  has  been  regarded  as  purely  pas- 
sive. The  I,  however,  must  have  freedom  of  deter- 
mination. The  I  could  posit  other  objects  in  ./'  and 
?/  as  well  as  A' and  )\  In  the  sphere  //,  it  could  posit 
A  and  B.  and  nuike  //  the  sphere  of  the  activity  of 
both;  or,  in  jilace  of  J,  it  could  posit  E  and  />,  and  so 
on  forever.  Whatever  it  posits,  the  s[)liei'es  of  these 
objects     must     be     mutually     limiting.      All     these 


230       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

spheres  must,  therefore,  be  continuous.  All  this 
must  be  really  posited  by  the  imagination.  /S'  is 
thus  posited  as  extended,  continuous,  and  infinitely 
divisible,  and  is  space. 

Since  the  imagination  can  posit  the  possibility  of 
other  objects,  with  other  spheres  of  activity,  in  the 
space  X  or  y,  it  separates  space  from  the  objects 
that  fill  it,  and  gives  thus  the  idea  of  empty  space. 
This,  however,  is  merely  in  passing  from  one  content 
to  another.  There  is  absolutely  no  empty  space, 
except  so  far  as  it  is  suggested  by  this  transition. 

If  we  leave  out  of  the  account  the  qualities  of 
things  which  appeal  to  the  feeling  alone,  and  which 
cannot  be  made  objects  of  thought  —  as  that  they  are 
sour  or  sweet,  heavy  or  light,  etc. —  things  are  wholly 
indistinguishable,  except  through  the  space  that  they 
occupy.  Therefore,  that  which  so  pertains  to  things 
that  it  is  ascribed  to  them  —  and  not,  like  sensations, 
to  the  I  —  but  which  does  not  belong  to  their  inner 
essence,  is  the  space  which  they  occupy. 

All  space  is,  however,  alike,  and  there  is  no  dis- 
tinction possible,  except  under  the  condition  that 
already  a  thing  —  namel}',  Y — is  posited  in  a  cer- 
tain place,  and  that,  therefore,  we  are  forced  to  say  of 
A'  that  it  is  in  a  different  place.  All  space  distinc- 
tions imply  space  already  filled.  Place  A  in  the 
infinite  empty  space,  and  you  cannot  answer  the 
question  where  it  is;  for  you  have  no  point  of  meas- 
urement or  departure,  xi  could  move  ceaselessly  in 
space,  without  our  perceiving  it.  But  as  soon  as  B 
is  placed  in  the  neighborhood  of  A^  we  have  some 


DEDUCTION    OF   TIIK    WOULD    OF   OBJECTS.    ^^31 

starting  point.  We  can  say  of  either  that  it  is  near 
the  other.  In  making  tliis  point  of  dejjarture,  we 
are  absolutely  free.  We  can  say  that  A  is  near  B, 
or  that  B  is  near  A.  As  soon  as  we  have  fixed  one 
point,  we  must  estimate  others  according  to  it;  but 
the  act  of  selection  is  wholly  arbitrary.  Further, 
the  selection  once  made,  is  not  necessarily  fixed. 
We  may  now  make  A'  at  x  our  point  of  departure, 
and  at  another  time  Y  at  ij. 

V.  TIME. 

From  this  it  will  appear  that,  so  far  as  the  rela- 
tions of  space  are  concerned,  there  is  nothing  abso- 
lute or  permanent.  All  is  left  to  caprice,  and  to  a 
caprice  that  may  continually  change.  No  relation 
can  thus  be  fixed  between  the  Me  and  tlie  Not-me. 
All  is  shifting  and  uncertain.  We  need  another 
form  of  relation,  according  to  which  this  fluctuation 
is  impossible.  The  I  may  still  be  free  to  connect 
what  object  it  will  with  any  given  point,  but  its 
selection  once  made,  it  must  abide  by  it. 

This  form  of  relation  is  what  we  know  as  time. 
In  time  there  is  this  mingled  freedom  and  cou- 
straint.  We  may  put  what  content  we  will  into 
any  moment,  but  the  content  once  put  into  it  is 
there  forever.  Let  c  be  one  point  in  time;  we  may 
put  into  it  the  content  A'.  This  content  is  purely 
accidental,  so  far  as  this  point  is  concerned.  It 
might  have  been  Y,  or  any  other  content,  but  once 
given,  it  cannot  be  changed.  There  remains  now  the 
point  /.     Its  content  is  open  to  the  caprice  of  the 


232         fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

I.  It  has,  however,  a  fixed  relation  to  e  and  its 
content.  Suppose  Y  to  be  the  content  of/;  /  and  Y 
are  determined  by  e  and  X.  It  is  as  when  we  start 
from  one  point  in  space;  all  other  points  and  their 
contents  stand  in  relation  to  it.  They  are  this  side 
or  that,  above  or  below,  far  or  near.  The  difference 
is  that,  as  we  have  seen,  in  space  these  relations  are 
fluctuating,  we  may  change  them  at  any  moment. 
In  regard  to  time  we  cannot  do  this.  The  moment 
and  its  content  pass  at  once  out  of  our  hands;  and 
the  next  must  of  necessity  be  seen  in  relation  to  it. 

We  can  thus  have  no  present  witliout  a  past. 
We  may  illustrate  this  by  a  feeling  that  we  some- 
times have  when  suddenly  awaking  from  a  deep 
slumber.  The  sense  of  time  seems  for  a  moment 
gone.  We  are  as  if  in  a  timeless  world.  We  are 
starting  afresh  in  the  process  that  has  just  been 
described. 

Thei'e  is  for  us,  saj'S  Fichte,  no  past  except  so  far 
as  it  is  thought  in  the  present.  Wliat  was  yesterday 
(for  we  cannot  express  ourselves  without  using  the 
language  of  common  life)  is  not.  It  is  only  as  far 
as,  in  the  present  moment,  we  think  that  it  was 
3'esterday.  Tlie  question  wliether  there  is  then 
really  such  a  thing  as  past  time,  is  like  the  question 
whether  there  is  a  Thing-in-itself.  There  is  cer- 
tainly a  past  time  when  we  posit  it;  and  when  we 
raise  the  question,  we  do  posit  it.  When  we  do  not 
posit  it,  we  no  longer  propose  the  question;  and  then 
for  us  lliero  is  no  past  iinie.  There  is,  liowever, 
necessarily  a  past  for  us  ;  for  only  under  this  condi- 


DEDUCTION    OF   THE    WOULD    OF   OBJECTS.    2X] 

tion  is  there,  as  we  have  seen,  a  present;  and  only 
under  condition  of  a  present  is  consciousness  pos- 
sible. 

Two  things  are  needed  for  consciousness;  namely, 
a  sense  of  fixedness  and  that  of  freedom;  for  con- 
sciousness is  only  possible  ihi'oujfh  contrast,  and 
this  contrast  demands  something  fixed  and  something 
changeable.  The  perception  J{  is  no  perception,  if 
another  —  namely,  A — be  not  assumed.  Now  if  A 
should  disappear,  and  the  T  should  go  forward  to  the 
consciousness  of  C,  B  must  at  least  remain  as  its 
condition;  and  so  on  forever.  Upon  this  jirinciple 
depends  the  identity  of  consciousness,  for  which, 
strictly  speaking,  only  two  moments  are  needed. 
Thei'e  is  no  first  moment  of  consciousness,  on!}'  a 
second. 

A  fixed  quantity  of  space  coexists;  a  quantity  of 
time  exists  in  succession;  therefore,  we  can  only 
measure  the  one  through  the  other.  We  measure 
space  by  the  time  which  it  takes  to  traverse  it;  and 
time  by  the  space  wliicli  we  or  any  regularly  mov- 
ing body,  the  sun  or  the  hand  of  the  clock,  can 
traverse  in  it. 

VI.  THE  NATURE  OF  THE  CHAXGF,  DKSIKKD. 

We  will  now  return  to  tlie  considei'ation  of  that 
longing  which  is  the  basis  of  our  present  discussion. 
The  longing  aims  at  something  different  from  what 
is.  This  implies  some  degree  of  recognition  of  what 
is;  for  the  desire  of  change  presupposes  some  idea 
of  that  from  whicli  we  wish  to  escape.     The  question 


234       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

now  is  whether  the  condition  will  occur  under 
which  alone  a  feeling  different  from  that  already 
existing  may  take  place.  It  must;  for  without  such 
change  the  I  would  feel  nothing  definite,  which  is 
the  same  as  to  say  that  it  would  feel  nothing,  and 
that  indeed  it  would  not  be  an  I.* 

It  will  be  seen  that  Fichte  here,  as  elsewhere, 
appeals  to  the  necessity  of  consciousness.  Whatever 
is  required  for  it  must  be  assumed  to  exist.  No 
suggestion  is  made  as  to  the  manner  in  which  this 
fact  of  change,  that  had  before  seemed  so  impossible, 
is  produced.  It  must  be,  or  there  could  be  no 
consciousness;  therefore  it  is. 

The  desire  for  change  implies  that  the  feeling 
which  is  longed  for  must  be  contrasted  with  that 
existing.  The  I,  however,  cannot  have  two  feelings 
at  the  same  lime.  The  present  feeling  is  felt  as 
such;  the  other,  the  longed-for  feeling,  must  be 
recognized  by  the  ideal  power  —  that  is,  by  thought. 
Thought,  however,  cannot  take  the  place  of  any  feel- 
ing, nor  produce  one.  It  can  only  regard  the  feeling 
negatively.  Thus,  who  can  say  what  we  mean  by 
sweet?  We  can  describe  it  only  negatively.  It  is 
not  this,  and  it  is  not  that.  What  it  is,  we  must 
know  by  sensation,  and  can  only  reproduce  it  dimly 
and  negatively  by  the  imagination. 

The  (juestion  now  meets  us,  How  shall  the  fact  of 
change  be  recognized':*  It  is  known  by  a  sense  of 
satisfaction  which  appears  to  the  intellect  under  the 
form  of  self-congratulation. 

*S:iiiimlliclif  Werkc,  I,  ;521. 


DEDUCTION   OF  THE   WORLD   OF   OBJECTS.    235 

We  have,  in  wliat  follows,  an  explanation  of  the 
longing  for  change,  which  is  very  important  in  the 
study  of  the  thought  of  Fichte.  We  have  before 
seen  that  the  I  in  coniemplutlng  the  object  applies 
the  same  test  that  it  ai)plies  in  thinking.  The  ob- 
ject, like  the  subject,  must  be  a  unit  ;  therefore,  it 
must  be  limited.  A' can  only  be  really  limited  when 
it  has  given  place  to  1^  So  long  as  we  contemplate 
A"  alone,  the  longing  grows  out  of  the  impossibility 
of  determination,  owing  to  lack  of  limit.  So  soon 
as  the  other  feeling  arises,  the  limiting  of  A'  is  })0s- 
sible,  and  really  occurs. 

This  result  cannot  be  recognized  without  a  com- 
parison with  the  former  condition.  The  former 
feeling  is  therefore  regarded  with  dissatisfaction, 
which  is  the  contrary  of  the  self-congratulation 
which  the  present  state  excites.  Not  every  longing 
is  accompanied  with  dissatisfaction;  but  when  its  re- 
sult has  been  realized,  the  former  state  is  regarded 
as  having  been  unsatisfactoiy. 

The  feeling  of  self-congratulation  is,  however, 
only  transient.  The  nature  of  the  I  involves  the 
longing  which  has  been  described.  This  implies 
restlessness  and  lack  of  permanent  satisfaction.  One 
longs  ever  for  change.  When  the  change  is  reached, 
for  the  moment  there  is  relief;  but  the  old  restless- 
ness soon  awakes  again,  and  we  long  as  earnestl}-  as 
before  for  something  diti'erent  from  the  present. 

The  terms  in  which  this  reasoning  is  expressed 
are  often  so  similar  to  those  used  to  express  other 
forms  of  thought,  that  we  need  to  pause  in  order  to 


236       fichte's  science  of  kstowledge. 

make  clear  the  course  that  we  have  followed,  and 
the  conclusion  that  has  been  reached.  This  can  only 
be  done  at  the  cost  of  some  repetition. 

As  has  been  often  stated,  the  activity  of  the  I  is 
regarded  by  Fichte  as  purely  ideal.  It  is  an  activ- 
ity of  consciousness.  Through  the  whole  discussion 
we  have  to  do  with  nothing  except  consciousness,  and 
the  content  of  consciousness.  The  demand  of  the  I 
is  for  completeness  in  every  object  of  its  contempla- 
tion. It  contemplates  itself,  and  demands  complete- 
ness here.  It  demands  that  the  I  should  be  absolutely 
self-determining;  or,  as  we  may  express  the  same 
thing,  that  the  Me  should  be  equal  to  the  I.  This  is 
impossible,  from  the  very  nature  of  things;  for,  should 
this  absoluteness  be  reached,  there  would  be  neither 
I  nor  Me.  It.  however,  never  can  be  reached;  for  an 
eternal  progress  is  necessary  for  this  result.  Thus 
we  have  that  longing  which  has  been  described,  so 
far  as  this  relates  to  the  demand  for  absoluteness  on 
the  part  of  the  I. 

This  longing  is  manifested  more  definitely  when 
it  is  considered  in  rehition  to  the  objects  that  fill  the 
consciousness.  It  is  these  that  prevent  the  I  from 
that  absolute  self-assertion  which  it  demands;  and 
the\^  do  this  because  they  do  not  adapt  themselves 
to  its  needs.  Because  the  I  demands  totality  for 
itself,  it  demands  totality  for  its  ol>ject;  for  only  by 
possessing  this  will  the  object  be  its  mirror.  T(:)tal- 
ity  in  the  object  is,  however,  as  impossible  as  totality 
in  tiie  Me.  In  oi'der  that  an  object  should  be  indeed 
an  obipft  of  consciousness,  it  must,  as  we  have  seen. 


DEDUCTION    OF   THE    WORLD   OF    OB.JIXTS.    237 

possess  two  characteristics.  It  must  be  self-identi- 
cal, and  it  must  be  limited.  This  limit  must  arise 
from  some  other  ol)ject  with  which  it  stands  in  con- 
trast. We  have  thus  re|)fated  the  antinomy  which 
met  us  in  regard  to  th(^  1.  As  there  can  be  no  Mo 
without  a  Not-me,  and  as  this  renders  the  absolute 
self-assertion  of  the  I  impossible,  so  there  can  be  no 
A^  without  a  Not- A';  and  as  the  Not-me  cannot  be 
merely  a  Not-me.  but  must  be  sometliinj^f  in  particu- 
lar, namely  A',  so  the  Not-A'  cannot  be  merely  a 
Not-A',  it  must  be  a  V.  With  }',  however,  the  same 
difficulty  occurs  as  with  A'.  In  order  that  it  may 
be  a  y,  this  needs  a  Not-}",  namely,  a  Z;  and  so 
ou  forever.  Thus  there  is  always  incompleteness  in 
the  Not-rae,  just  as  there  is  always  incompleteness 
in  the  Me.  Indeed,  the  incompleteness  of  the  Not- 
me  is  the  cause  of  the  incompleteness  of  the  Me. 

The  position  of  Fichte  is  so  different  from  that 
ordinarily  taken,  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  use 
terms  that  may  not  convey  a  false  impression. 
What  has  been  said  niiglit  easily  be  understood  as 
applying  to  what  would  be  ordinarily  recognized  as 
purely  theoretical  relations.  It  may,  indeed,  be 
illustrated  by  the  pursuit  of  completeness  by 
science.  Science  must  see  A  as  conditioned  by  7i, 
and  B  by  C,  and  so  on  forever;  thus  science  has  an 
endless  quest  for  a  result  which  it  is  constantly 
approaching,  but  which  it  can  never  reach.  Fichte, 
however,  refers  primarily  to  what  we  regard  as  the 
real  and  practical  relations  of  life.  He  refers  to  the 
attempt  to  reach  completeness  and  satisfaction    in 


238        fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

the  relations  in  which  we  are  placed,  or  in  those 
which  we  create;  only  it  must  be  remembered  that 
with  Fichte  the  objects  that  enter  into  these  rela- 
tionships are  themselves  only  in  and  for  the  con- 
sciousness. We  seem  to  ourselves  to  be  changing 
things  that  are  outside  ourselves;  really  there  is  no 
change  save  in  our  own  feelings. 

VII.    THE  LONGING   FOR   HARMONY  AND  COMPLETENESS. 

We  can  thus  understand,  in  its  full  sweep,  the 
longing  which  fills  so  large  a  place  in  the  system  of 
Fichte.  It  is  the  demand  for  perfection.  By  per- 
fection is  meant  wholeness  or  completeness.  The  I 
will  itself  be  absolute,  but  it  finds  itself  limited  by 
the  Not-me.  It  seeks  to  gratify  itself  by  turning 
toward  this.  It  will  become  absolute  by  making 
the  Not-me  the  image  of  that  absoluteness  which  it 
demands.  Here  it  is  thwarted  as  before.  Within 
and  without  there  is  incompleteness.  None  the  less 
does  the  I  seek  ever  to  accomplish  the  result  for 
which  it  yearns;  and  in  this  striving,  as  we  have 
already  seen,  it  finds  the  foreshadowing  of  its  own 
endless  career. 

The  more  definite  form  under  which  the  ideal 
perfection  may  be  imaged,  is  that  of  harmony.  In 
order  that  there  may  be  harmony,  two  elejnents 
must  e.xist,  and  each  of  these  must  have  a  certain 
completeness  and  unity.  Each  must  be  free;  that  is, 
each  must  be  self-determined.  Each,  also,  must 
determine  and  be  determined  by  the  other.  This 
tendency  of  each  of   the  two  elements  to  absolute 


DEDIMTION    OF   THE    WOUJ.I)    OF   OB.I  KCTS.    2',VJ 

determination  —  that  is,  to  determine  itself  and  the 
other  also — may  be  obviously  the  source  of  discord. 
We  have  often  conflict  instead  of  harmony. 

If,  however,  the  perfect  result  could  be  reached, 
we  should  have  harmony.  A'  and  1'  would  be  per- 
fectly fitted  to  one  another;  each  would  be  condi- 
tioned by  the  other,  and  only  by  this.  Thus,  since 
X  would  be  conditioned  by  }',  and  }'  by  A',  our  quest 
would  be  at  an  end.  No  further  Z  would  l)e  re- 
quired. This,  in  a  purely  theoretical  aspect,  is  what 
science  is  striving  to  accomplish.  It  would  attain 
to  the  idea  of  a  cosmos  in  which  all  the  elements 
are  mutually  determining.  This  is  the  end  which, 
practically,  we  seek  in  life.  We  demand  that  each 
of  the  elements  that  enter  into  it  should  be  comple- 
mental  to  all  the  rest,  so  that  we  should  have  noth- 
ing further  to  wish  for. 

VIII.    THE    ABSOLUTE   HARMONY;    THE  MORAL  LAW  AND 
ITS    CONTENT. 

The  fundamental  discord  that  needs  to  be  solved 
is  that  between  the  impulse,  or  longing,  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  act  by  which  it  seeks  to  express  itself, 
upon  the  other.  The  highest  manifestation  of  this 
tendency  to  activity  is  that  in  which  the  impulse  is 
to  no  special  thing  for  any  promised  gain,  but 
merely  for  its  own  sake.  It  is  a  striving  that  has 
no  other  end  than  itself;  an  absolute  striving.  This 
is  what  Kant  described  as  the  Categorical  Impera- 
tive. It  is  an  absolute  law,  an  absolute  iiiKsf.  Such 
a  demand  is,  as  has  often  been  urged,  wholly  unde- 


240       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

termined  and  vague.  It  is  eas}'  to  say,  Thou  must; 
it  is  not  so  easy  to  say  what  must  be  done.  The 
command  is  without  reason  and  without  content. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  highest  form  of  action,  being 
that  which  is  for  its  own  sake,  is  an  act  of  perfect 
freedom.  The  whole  reason  for  tlie  act  lies  in 
the  act  itself.  It  is  easy  to  see  how  such  activity 
must  be  wholly  undetermined  and  vague.  Al)solute 
freedom  implies  subjection  to  no  reason.  The  act 
must  furnish  its  own  object,  which  is  meaningless. 
We  have,  then,  these  two  over  against  each 
other:  on  the  one  side,  absolute  law;  on  the  other, 
an  absolutely  free  activity.  Each  is,  by  its  very 
nature,  undetermined.  The  law  commands  without 
reason  or  end.  Freedom  performs  without  submit- 
ting to  the  imposition  of  any  reason  or  end.  In  this 
contrast  we  find  brought  face  to  face  the  most  sub- 
lime elements  of  the  nature;  but  they  stand  over 
against  one  another  with  apparently  no  point  of 
contact.  Yet  each  must  give  to  the  other  that  de- 
termination which  it  needs.  Thus  alone  will  each 
lose  its  vagueness,  and  receive  some  deiinite  signifi- 
cance. So  far  as  this  is  don*;  will  tin;  nature  be  at 
peace.  In  the  fii'st  place,  the  act  must  l)o  perfectly 
free;  for  it  is  perfect  freedom  that  we  are  consider- 
ing. Being  free,  it  can  regard  itself  either  as  deter- 
mined through  that  sti'iving  of  the  nature  which  is 
expressed  by  the  Categorical  Imperative  or  as  op- 
posed to  it.  The  (luestion  that  now  meets  us  is, 
How  shall  this  harmony  or  discord  be  manifested? 
[n  the  second  place,  if  the  harmony  is  to  be  com- 


DEDUCTION    OF   THE    WOULD    OF   OBJECTS.    241 

plete,  the  striving  must  have  the  appearance  of  being 
determined  by  the  act;  and  the  question  meets  us, 
How^  shall  this  result  be  accomplished? 

In  the  I,  no  two  opposites  can  coexist.  The  im- 
pulse and  the  act  are  here  opt)Osed.  When  the  act  is 
to  begin,  the  impulse  is  interrupted  or  limited.  From 
this  arises  a  feeling.  The  act  freely  directs  itself 
toward  the  possible  ground  of  this  feeling,  posits  such 
a  ground,  and  roali/es  it.  If  the  act  is  found  to  be  in 
accordance  with  the  impulse — that  is,  if  a  sense  of 
harmony  is  produced  —  then  we  know  what  was  the 
object  of  the  impulse;  namely,  the  impulse  aimed  at 
the  act  which  has  been  performed.  Henceforth,  the 
command  has  a  meaning,  a  definiteness,  which  before 
was  lacking.  To  express  the  same  thought  in  more 
familiar  speech,  according  to  the  doctrine  of  intui- 
tive morals,  we  recognize  a  vague  but  absolute  com- 
mand to  do  what  is  right.  If  we  ask  for  a  reason, 
the  answer  is,  Because  it  is  right.  If  we  ask  what 
we  are  to  do,  the  answer  is,  Do  what  is  right.  We 
are  free  to  seek  to  conform  to  this  command  or  not. 
We  at  first  are  not  sure  what  the  law  requires. 
After  acts  have  been  performed,  however,  we  find 
that  some  were  in  conformity  with  the  law,  and 
that  some  were  not.  Indeed,  it  is  possible  that  in 
this  way  first  do  we  learn  that  there  is  a  law.  If 
we  have  done  what  the  law  forbids,  we  have  the 
reproach  of  conscience,  which  reveals  to  us  the  fact 
that  we  have  done  wrong.  If  our  act  is  in  con- 
formity to  the  law,  we  have  a  sense  of  peace,  which 
perhaps  is  the  first  intimation  that  we  have  done 
16 


242        fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

right.  Thus  it  is  the  act  that  has  given  a  content 
to  the  law,  while  it  was  freely  seeking  to  conform 
itself  to  the  law.  Thus,  the  problem  that  seemed 
to  admit  of  no  solution  is  solved.  The  law,  through 
the  act  itself,  determines  the  act.  The  act  is  now 
known  to  be  right  or  wrong,  through  the  evidence 
which  its  very  existence  has  brought  with  it;  and 
henceforth,  all  similar  acts  are  either  commanded  or 
forbidden.  Thus  the  act  has  determined  the  law,  by 
giving  to  it  a  definite  content.  Freedom  has  not 
been  violated,  because  the  law  first  determined  the 
act  after  its  commission.  The  absoluteness  of  the 
law  has  not  been  violated,  for  it  was  by  its  spontan- 
eous and  unreasoned  judgment  that  it  pronounced 
the  act  right  or  wrong. 

We  have  thus  expressed,  in  its  highest  form,  the 
possibility  of  perfect  harmony  in  the  nature,  and 
the  goal  toward  which  the  infinite  striving  of  the 
nature  tends.  We  cannot,  indeed,  consciously  work 
toward  an  end  which  is  infinitely  removed.  We 
can,  however,  move  step  by  step  in  the  direction 
toward  which  that  would  call  us.*  Doing  this,  we 
tread  a  path  which  law  and  act,  working  in  the 
manner  that  has  been  described,  are  forming  for  us 
as  we  advance. 

*  Siimmtliche  Werke,  IV  (Sittenlchrc),  150. 


CHAPTER  XT. 

TRANSITION  TO  ONTOLOGY. 

WE  have  thus  considered  Fichte's  earliest  state- 
ment of  his  philosophy.  It  is,  for  the  most 
part,  concerned  with  psychological  studies.  It  ana- 
lyzes consciousness,  and  constructs  a  phenomenology 
of  the  human  spirit.  The  problems,  which,  as  we 
have  seen,  presented  themselves  in  relation  to  the 
system  of  Kant,  are,  to  a  large  extent,  solved.  The 
Categories  and  the  faculties  of  the  mind  arc  sliown 
in  their  organic  relations  to  one  another,  and  to  the 
mind  itself.  The  theoretical  and  the  practical  rea- 
son are  also  seen  in  their  relation  to  one  another. 
Each  is  seen  to  be  dependent  upon  the  other;  thus 
the  three  absolutes  which  Fichte  found  in  Kant, 
namely,  the  Practical  Reason,  the  Theoretical  Rea- 
son, and  the  Principle  of  Unity, —  the  supernatural 
element  which  manifests  itself  in  both — are  reduced 
to  one.  The  I  itself,  with  its  infinite  possibilities,  is 
the  supernatural  element  in  which  the  theoretical 
and  the  practical  reason  coexist  in  an  organic  rela- 
tion to  one  another.  The  Thing-in-itself  is  put  at 
least  in  a  somewhat  clearer  light.  The  contradic- 
tion, which  was  latent  in  the  system  of  Kant,  has  at 
least  been    brought    to    consciousness.     Kant,  by  a 

243 


244       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

seeming  oversight,  applied,  contrary  to  his  funda- 
mental principle,  the  Category  of  Causation  to  a 
thing  outside  the  mind,  upon  which  the  objective 
world,  created  by  the  mind  itself,  had  a  certain  de- 
pendence. Fichte  makes  clear  the  contradiction 
involved  in  this  process,  while  he  denies  that  Kant 
was  guilty  of  the  inconsequence.  He  shows,  how- 
ever, that  this  is  an  inconsequence  that  we  cannot 
help  committing.  The  difficulty  that  admits  of  no 
theoretical  solution  he  solves  practically.  At  least, 
he  cuts  the  knot  which  he  cannot  untie.  He  believes 
that  he  has  found  the  nature  of  the  Categorical  Im- 
perative, and  the  ground  of  its  absoluteness.  It  is 
the  infinite  nature  of  the  I,  asserting  itself,  and  seek- 
ing to  make  itself  wholly  free  of  the  limits  by 
which  it  is  confined.  So  far  as  these  results  are 
concerned,  we  are  wholly  within  the  sphere  of 
Kant's  system.  Indeed,  Fichte  regards  his  own  sys- 
tem as  furnishing  in  some  sort  the  prolegomena  to 
that  of  Kant.  He  leaves  the  student  where  Kant 
may  take  him  up.* 

In  all  this  there  appear,  however,  indications  of 
another  side  to  the  system  of  Fichte.  We  have  only 
a  psychology;  but  this,  when  we  examine  it  closely, 
appears  to  involve  an  ontology.  Difficulties  still 
meet  us,  which  could  hardly  have  escaped  the  keen 
vision  of  Fichte.  There  are  obvious  contradictions. 
There  is,  in  inany  aspects  of  the  system,  an  incom- 
pleteness, which,  it  would  seem,  Fichte  himself  must 
have  felt. 

♦Siimmtliche  Wcrkc,  I,  411. 


TRANSITION   TO   ONTOLOGY.  245 

One  difficulty  tliat  strikes  every  reader  is  the 
seeming  solitariness  of  the  I.  We  have  been  study- 
ing a  single  individual.  We  have  had  no  hint  of 
any  reason  why  we  should  recognize  other  individu- 
als, or  of  the  relation  in  which  we  might  stand  to 
them.  The  world  of  men  would  seem  to  be,  like 
the  world  of  things,  the  creation  of  the  productive 
imagination.  At  the  same  time,  Ficht(!  speaks,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  of  other  individuals,*  thus  show- 
ing that  he  recognized  this  world  of  men,  of  which 
his  system  itself  would  tell  us  nothing.  Here,  cer- 
tainly, is  a  point  that  needs  explanation. 

The  relation  of  the  self-assertion  of  the  I  to  the 
Categorical  Imperative  is  one  in  regard  to  which 
some  mighty  assumption  must  have  been  made  by 
Fichte,  of  which  he  has  given  us  no  hint.  Kuno 
Fischer  emphasizes  what  has  been  called  the  Faust- 
like and  Titanic  character  of  the  I  of  Fichte. f  The 
ci'y  of  Faust  was.  '"  If  ever  I  lay  myself  quietly  upon 
a  bed  of  rest,  it  will  be  all  over  with  me."  80  might 
the  I  speak,  in  the  system  that  we  are  studying.  Its 
very  being  is  in  its  activity.  Titan-like,  it  would 
scale  the  heavens;  it  would  become  intinite.  This 
gives  us  a  sense  of  awe,  as  if  we  were  in  the  pres- 
ence of  some  tremendous  force  of  nature.  With 
Fichte,  however,  the  thought  of  this  Titanic  struggle 
suggests  something  more  tlian  .1\ve.  It  calls  for 
reverence.     It  manifests  the  loftiest  ethical  aspira- 

*  Siiinnitliche  Worke,  I,  Vii  ((inimllatre):  Xur  claims  oiiies  .lecleu 
Ich  selbst  die  eiiizige  hiJchsto  Subfitau/.  i.^t. 

tFiscliLT:  Ge!=chichte  dor  Xeuuii  Philo^ophie.  zwtitf  Aullage,  V, 
491. 


24G        fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

tion.  It  stands  for  the  moral  law  itself.  Surely, 
Fichte  must  have  had  something  in  his  thought, 
which  he  has  not  yet  told  us. 

The  solution  of  the  problem  concerning  the  Thing- 
in-itself  is  certainly  very  unsatisfactory.  It  is  un- 
satisfactory in  the  same  sense  as  is  the  statement 
last  referred  to,  in  that  it  gives  us  the  feeling  that 
the  whole  stor}^  is  not  yet  told.  Here,  too,  Fichte 
would  seem  to  have  had  a  background,  or  basis,  for 
his  thouglit.  He  tells  us  that  this  unknown  some- 
thing, against  which  the  activity  of  the  I  impinges, 
may  be  only  a  limit.  In  fact,  it  is  as  a  mere  limit 
that  this  something  is  all  along  regarded.  In  his 
paper  upon  The  Ground  of  Our  Faith  in  a  Divine  Gov- 
ernment of  the  World,  Fichte  states  that  these  lim- 
its are.  so  far  as  their  origin  is  concerned,  indeed 
incomprehensible.  '"But  what  does  this  concern 
thee?"  says  the  practical  philosophy;  "the  meaning 
of  them  is  the  clearest  and  the  most  certain  thing 
that  there  is;  they  form  thy  special  place  in  the  moral 
ordering  of  the  world."*  This  definite  and  confi- 
dent speaking  of  what  was  at  first  spoken  of  so 
vaguely,  shows  that  the  whole  matter  was,  from  the 
beginning,  much  more  clearly  mapped  out  in  the 
thought  of  Fichte  than  might  appear  from  his  lan- 
guage. 

The  System  of  Ethicsf  published  in  1798  —  and 
thus  included  in  the  period  of  Fichte's  life  at  Jena, 
and  in  what  is  known  as  his  earlier  period  —  brings 

*  Saiiimtliche  Wi-rkc,  V,  1S4,  ct  seq. 

tDas  Sy!-tein  der  Sitlt'iilehrc,  Sanimtliclie  Wcike,  IV. 


TRANSITION   TO   ONTOLOCY.  ^47 

US  some  steps  nearer  to  tlie  Ontology.  It  does  this 
simply  by  presenting  in  a  sharper  contradiction  the 
elements  that  have  already  seemed  so  discordant. 
This  work,  so  far  as  its  relation  to  the  i)hilosophy  of 
Fichte  is  concerned,  covers  ground  which  had  been, 
in  part,  occupied  by  his  treatist;  on  Natural  Rights.* 
The  work  begins  with  a  fresh  analysis  of  conscious- 
ness. We  are  told  that  the  1  perceives  itself  only 
under  the  form  of  will.  There  are  but  two  ele- 
ments of  our  inner  life;  namely,  consciousness  and 
will.  This  being  so,  there  remains  as  the  object  of 
consciousness  only  the  will.  The  I,  then,  is  intel- 
lectual; the  Me  represents  the  act  of  willing. 
Although  we  recognize  the  I  and  the  Me  as  one,  we 
cannot  unite  them  in  a  single  thought.  Each  is  ^ 
precisely  what  the  other  is  not.  The}'  are  antithet- 
ical, and  we  cannot  reconcile  them  so  that  they  shall 
become  one.  The  real  self  is  an  .V.f  It  is  the  un- 
known and  unthinkable  somewhat  that  manifests 
itself  in  both  the  theoretical  and  practical  reason,  in 
the  I  and  the  Me.  The  I,  however,  as  we  have  said, 
finds  the  Me  represented  by  volition.  We  there- 
fore assume  that  the  nature  itself  consists  of  will. 
By  will,  is  here  meant  what  we  have  before  known 
as  the  longing,  or  the  activity,  whicli  constitutes  the 
nature  of  the  I. 

We  now  see  how  we  arrive  at  this  conception. 
But  how  do  we  know  that  this  idea  is  not  a  delu- 
sion?    Other    things    that    make    u\)    the    world    of 

♦Gniutllage  ties  Naturreclitsi.  Siiiniutliclic  Werke.  III. 
t  Siimmtliche  Werke,  IV,  42. 


348       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

objects,  we  know,  are  not  that  for  which  they  would 
pass  themselves.  How  do  we  know  that  this  percep- 
tion of  the  self,  as  will,  is  not  also  delusive?  This 
is  something  that  we  cannot  know.  There  is  no 
reason  that  we  can  give  why,  so  far  as  our  being  is 
concerned,  there  may  not  be  an  unknown  back- 
ground of  the  reality,  which  is  something  wholly 
different  from  the  will.  Fichte  here  lays  down  the 
somewhat  startling  proposition  that  we  stop  with 
the  will,  because  we  will  to  do  so;*  that  this  prac- 
tical activity  really  constitutes  our  nature,  is  a  mat- 
ter of  faith.  This  faith  we  accept  by  an  act  of 
voluntary  determination.  This  position  Herbart 
refers  to  as  taking  all  rational  basis  from  the  system 
•  of  Fichte.  It  is,  however,  only  the  extreme  applica- 
tion of  the  same  principle  that  has  been  accepted  by 
Fichte,  as  it  was  accepted  by  Kant,  as  the  solvent  of 
all  ultimate  difficulties.  It  is  the  principle  of  the 
Postulate.  The  practical  aspect  of  life  is  seen  to  be 
so  imperative  that  we  postulate  whatever  is  needed 
for  its  realization.  This  principle  is  here  carried  so 
far  that  the  absoluteness  of  this  practical  element  of 
life  is  itself  postulated.  It  is  felt  that  no  other  view 
of  life  would  be  worthy  of  the  grandeur  which,  we 
feel,  must  belong  to  it.  Therefore,  we  determine 
that  we  will  accept  this,  and  abide  by  it. 

In  the  treatise  on  Ethics,  and  especially  in  that  on 
Natural  Rights, f  the  deduction  of  the  outer  world  is 
more  fully  carried  out  than  in  the  earlier  work; 
though  what  is  stated  in  these  is  in  accord  with  the 

*  Sammtliche  Werke,IV,  26  and  53^.  t  Same  III.  2.3-85. 


TRANSITION   TO   ONTOLOGY.  249 

views  before  expressed.  As  we  postulate,  on  the  one 
side,  the  active  element  of  life  as  constituting  its 
essence,  so,  on  the  other  side,  we  postulate  whatever 
is  needed  to  make  this  activity  real.  This  activity 
tends  to  causation :  therefore  we  must  assume  an 
outer  material  world  upon  which  it  can  act.  Fur- 
ther, this  activity  is  the  living  according  to  reason. 
Reason,  however,  is  impossil)le  to  the  subject,  unless 
it  has  already  found  not  merely  reality,  but  ration- 
ality, outside  itself.  Through  rationality  in  the 
object,  does  the  subject  itself  reach  rationality. 
Thus  we  must  assume  rational  beings  as  existing 
around  us.  Again,  in  order  to  act  upon  the  outer 
world,  we  must  have  an  insti-ument  that  is  identi- 
fied in  a  special  manner  with  ourselves.  We  thus 
postulate  an  articulated  body. 

We  have  thus  reached  the  basis  upon  which 
rests  our  faith  in  the  external  world.  'J'iiis  basis 
is  that  impulse  to  activity  which  lias  before  been 
identified  with  the  moral  law.  We  assume  the  ex- 
istence of  a  world  of  pei'soiis  and  things  outside  of 
us  in  order  that  the  impulse  of  duty  may  be  ful- 
filled. Duty  is  thus  the  one  reality  ui)on  which  all 
else  depends.* 

It  is  from  these  considei"ations  that  Fichte,  4)y 
a  change  of  phrase,  speaks  of  duty  as  the  Thing-in- 
itself. 

Hegel  compares  the  process  of  construction  which 
we  have  thus  considered,  to  the  method  adopted  by 
Natural  Theology.      In  this,  each  thing  is  considered 

*  Saimntlichc  Wurko,  V,  211. 


250       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

in  reference  to  some  special  end,  which  is,  for  the 
most  part,  directly  or  indirectly  related  to  human 
well-being.  In  another  connection  Hegel  satirizes 
this  method  in  Natural  Theology,  by  saying  that  if 
the  vine  is  made  that  man  may  have  wine,  the  cork 
tree  exists  that  he  may  have  corks  for  his  wine 
bottles.  The  point  of  Hegel's  criticism  in  both  cases 
is  the  clumsy  and  piecemeal  character  of  the  work. 
Each  thing  is  taken  by  itself,  and  finds  its  relation 
to  the  universe  to  consist  in  some  special  aptitude  to 
meet  some  special  need.  There  is  no  sweep  of  one 
grand  movement  of  deduction  in  which  each  has  its 
place,  no  organic  unity  resting  upon  some  universal 
principle.  Such  simplicity  and  organic  unity  is 
the  aim  of  the  system  of  Hegel.  In  comparison 
with  this,  the  method  of  Fiehte  seemed  to  consist  in 
the  use  of  one  makeshift  after  another. 

We  now  meet  a  turn  in  the  thought  of  Fiehte 
more  sudden  and  startling  than  any  which  has  yet 
presented  itself.  It  is,  indeed,,  the  turning  point  of 
his  system,  and  thus  the  real  transition  to  his  Ontol- 
ogy. To  make  this  clear,  we  must  return  for  a 
moment  to  our  central  princii)le.  The  end  of  our 
being  is  complete  independence.  The  I  tends  to 
assert  itself  absolutely.  This  self-assertion  is  the 
substance  of  duty  itself.  It  is  also  that  which  we 
mean  by  reason.  The  I  alone  is  to  be  the  subject  of 
this  independence;  thus  the  impulse  is  a  striving  af- 
ter I-hood.  Now  it  lies  in  the  nature  of  I-hood  that 
evorv  I  must  be  an  individual;  the  recfuirement, 
however,  is  for  individuality  in  general.     It  is  not 


TRANSITION"   TO    ONTOLOGY.  251 

necessary  that  T-hnod  should  bo  represented  by  tliis 
individual  or  that  —  by  A,  li,  or  ('.  It  must  bo 
represented  by  an  individual,  but  by  no  individual 
in  particular.  So  far  as  I-hood  is  concerned,  it  is 
perfectly  inditferent  that  1,  the  individual  A.  am  A 
rather  than  Ji.  The  absolute  indopendonct!  of  yl, 
therefore  —  that  is,  of  myself  as  .1  —  is  a  matter  of 
indifference.  Absolute  rationality,  absolute  I-hood.  is 
our  final  goal,  but  not  rationality  and  I-hood  as  con- 
nected with  any  particular  individual.  Thus  I  my- 
self, considered  as  an  individual,  am  not  the  end 
in  which  the  impulse  of  duty  is  to  bo  fiillillod.  I 
am  but  an  instrument  for  this  end.  My  striving 
after  self-assertion  is  only  the  method  by  which  the 
absolute  demand  for  I-hood,  or  independence,  is 
accomplishing  itself.  Before,  we  regarded  the  body 
as  the  instrument  for  the  attainment  of  the  inde- 
pendence of  the  I.  Now,  we  see  that  the  whole 
individual  is  this  instrument.  We  have  thus  sepa- 
rated the  individual  and  empirical  I  from  the  pure  I, 
or  from  I-hood  in  general.* 

The  impulse  to  the  fulfilling  of  I-hood.  or  of 
perfect  independence,  is  equivalent  to  the  demand  of 
the  moral  law  or  rationality.  I  demand  morality  — 
that  is  to  say,  rationality  or  independence  —  abso- 
lutely. Whether  this  end  is  reached  within  me,  or 
outside  of  me,  is  a  matter  of  inditterence.  The  end 
of  my  being  is  accomplished  as  trul}'  when  others 
act  morally,  as  when  I  act  morally. 

Elsewhere  in  the  same  treatise.   The  System  of 

*S:immtlkhe  Werko,  IV,  331. 


252       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

Ethics,  Fichte  speaks  of  the  end  toward  which  the 
impulse  to  independence  is  ever  woi'king,  as  the 
complete  annihilation  of  the  individual,  and  its  ab- 
sorption into  the  pure  form  of  rationality,  or  into 
God.*  But,  though  this  is  the  final  goal  of  finite 
reason,  it  is  a  goal  that  can  never  become  actually 
reached. 

The  apparent  contradiction  which  is  here  uttered 
is  nothing  new  to  us.  We  have  traced  this  from 
the  very  beginning  of  the  development  of  the  sys- 
tem of  Fichte.  We  found  it  in  the  fact  that  the 
assertion  of  its  independence  by  the  I,  is  made  syn- 
onymous with  duty.  It  shows  itself  in  the  fact 
that  the  pursuit  of  independence  is  called  the  living 
according  to  reason.  We  here  find  only  the  climax 
of  the  contradiction,  when  it  is  openly  stated  that 
the  end  of  self-assertion  is  self-eflFacement. 

We  may  now  see  how  mistaken  is  the  impi'ession 
which  one  would  receive  from  a  superficial  examin- 
ation of  these  earlier  statements  of  the  system  of 
Fichte.  We  might,  at  the  first  glance,  suspect  that 
his  eagerness  for  independence  sprang  from  the 
influence  received  by  him  in  his  youth,  from  the 
French  Revolution.  We  have  seen  how  far  the 
independence  of  which  Fichte  speaks,  is  from  the 
Revolutionists'  dream  of  libert3\  It  is  an  inde- 
pendence that  is  one  with  self-surrender.  The 
individuality  with  which  we  start  becomes  trans- 
formed to  a  universality  in  which  all  have  their 
place.      We  have  thus  the  indications  of  a  philos- 

*  Sittenlehre,  Sanimtliche  Werke,  IV,  151. 


TRANSITION    TO    ONTOLOGY.  253 

ophy   of   religion   that   has  not   as   yet   been   fully 
stated. 

It  is  now  possible  to  understand  better  than 
before  what  Fichte  means  by  the  infinite  f.  To  do 
this  perfectly,  it  is  necessary  to  compare  the  state- 
ments which  he  makes  in  different  connections. 
Earlier,  we  have  found  him  afHriiiinjjf  that  tix!  lim- 
ited I  and  the  infinite  I  should  be  one.  Lafer,  in  a 
letter  to  Jacobi,  Fichte  affirms  that  the  infinite  I  is 
not  the  individual,  but  that  the  individual  1  should 
be  deduced  from  the  absolute.* 

One  of  the  most  instructive  passages  on  this  sub- 
ject is  the  following: 

"The  object  of  the  moral  law,  that  in  which  it 
can  alone  find  its  goal  set  forth,  is  nothing  individ- 
ual. It  is  reason  in  general.  The  moral  law  has, 
in  a  certain  sense,  itself  for  its  object.  I,  as  an, 
intelligence,  place  this  reason  outside  of  me.  The 
w^hole  community  of  reasonable  beings  outside  of 
me  is  its  manifestation.  This  exclusion  of  the 
absolute  reason  from  myself  is  the  act  of  the  moral 
law,  considered  as  a  theoretical  principle.  This 
exclusion  of  the  pure  I  from  myself  must  then  be 
insisted  upon  in  the  system  of  ethics;  therefore  the 
empirical  I  or  the  individual  I  will  alone  be  called 

*  "  My  absolute  I  is  obviously  not  tlie  iiidividnal.  So  have  an^ry 
courtiers  and  disgusted  i)hiloso|)lu'rs  explained  me,  in  order  to  fasten 
upon  me  the  shameful  doetrine  of  a  practical  egoism.  But  tlu'  indi- 
vidual must  be  deduced  from  the  absolute  I.  This  deduction  tlie  Sci. 
once  of  Knowledge  will  soon  accomplish  in  the  system  of  rights." — 
Fichte's  Leben,  etc.,  11,  1f;f>. 

tSammtliche  VVerke,  IV,  254-.5. 


254        fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

The  absolute  reason  and  the  pure  I  are  here  .iden- 
tified. This,  by  whichever  term  we  name  it,,  is 
placed  outside  of  myself,  and  is  manifested  by  all 
men  taken  together,  except  inijself.  Our  first  thought 
woiild,  perhaps,  be  that  the  univex'sal  reason  is 
regarded  as  having  broken  itself  up  into  individuals, 
all  of  whom  manifest  it  more  perfectly  than  any  one 
can  do.  The  pure  reason  would  be  then  behind  all 
and  in  all.  This  cannot  be  the  meaning;  for  why 
should  I,  as  an  individual,  not  be  included  in  this 
manifestation?  We  remember  that  the  individual 
who  speaks — thus  representing  a»ij  individual — was 
himself  the  one  in  whom,  as  he  believed,  the  abso- 
lute thought  was  more  nearly  uttered  than  it  had 
been  by  anyone  before  or  beside  him.  Why  is  not 
he  a  part  of  this  manifestation?  One  is  tempted 
«  further,  in  a  vague  and  general  way,  to  regard  this 
pure  reason,  or  pure  I,  as  God.  This  cannot  be,  for 
if  anything  is  maintained  from  first  to  last  by 
Fichte,  it  is  the  doctrine  that  an  infinite  I  is  a  con- 
tradiction in  terms.  The  infinite  I  is  the  goal  of  my 
being,  a  goal  that  it  can  never  reach ;  it  is  in  no 
sense  the  source  of  my  being.  Holding  fast  to  this 
principle,  we  find  a  meaning  in  the  passage:  "The 
goal  of  my  activit}'  is,  by  the  moral  law,  placed 
outside  of  me.  I  am  to  live  not  for  myself,  but 
for  others."'  We  now  understand  why,  for  each,  the 
manifestation  of  this  pure  reason,  or  tliis  pure  I, 
is  found  in  all  men  Init  himself.  Duty  reciuires  that 
he  should  forget  himself.  We  can  now  understand, 
also,  the  difference  between  this  statement  and  the 


TIIANSITION   TO  .ONTOLOGY.  255 

earlier.  Wlion  our  business  was  psycliological,  we 
i-eco<,'nized  the  power  of  the  pure  I  in  the  thrusting' 
aside  of  all  limit.  The  ideal  was  as  if  within  us, 
longing  to  be  fulfilled.  Now  that  our  business  is 
ethical,  we  regard  the  ideal  as  outside  of  us,  sum- 
moning us  to  its  accomplishment.  Both  forms  of 
statement  mean  the  same  thing,  only  each  regards  it 
from  a  different  point  of  view.  For,  accordi-ng  to 
the  former  point  of  view,  the  term  1  could  be  used 
vaguely  and  indifferently  to  cover  either  or  both 
forms  of  the  I;  according  to  the  lalter,  the  1  is  re- 
garded as  the  individual  seeking  tiiat  universal 
element  which  is  its  true  self,  as  if  it  were  some- 
thing foreign  to  itself. 

The  development,  by  Fichte,  of  his  Philosophy 
of  Religion,  or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  of  his  Ontol- 
ogy, is  very  gradual.  In  these  earlier  works  we 
have  only  hints  of  it.  In  his  impassioned  utterance 
in  regard  to  the  Dignity  of  Man,*  which  was  deliv- 
ered about  the  time  of  the  publication  of  the  first 
statement  of  his  system,  Fichte  shows  that  he  has 
such  a  philosophy,  though  he  gives  little  indication 
of  its  real  nature.  The  utterance  is  an  exaltation 
of  the  individual  man.  It  concludes,  however,  with 
the  statement  that  all  individuals  are  included  in 
the  one  great  unity  of  the  pure  spirit.  In  a  note,  he 
guards  against  confounding  this  view  with  that  of 
Spinoza.  The  unity  of  the  pure  spirit,  he  says,  is, 
with  him,  an  unattainable  ideal.  In  the  passage 
from  the  System  of  Ethics  to  wliich   reference  has 

*  Siimmtliclie  Wcrkc.  1,  412,  et  scq. 


256        fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

already  been  made,  some  light  is  thrown  upon 
the  expression,  Unity  of  the  Spirit.  The  unity  of 
the  spirit  will  be  reached  when  all  individuals  are 
lost  in  God;  but  this  can  only  be  at  the  end  of  an 
eternal  progress.  Unity  of  the  spirit  is  then  oneness 
with  God.  We  can  now  understand  how  the  posi- 
tion of  Fichte  differs  at  this  point  from  that  of 
Spinoza.  With  Spinoza,  all  beings  are  one  with  God  ; 
with  Fichte,  they  tend  to  become  so. 

In  his  article  on  The  Ground  of  Our  Faith  in  a 
Divine  Government  of  the  World,*  and  in  the  publi- 
cations in  which  he  defended  this,  Fichte  takes  a  step 
forward  in  the  development  of  his  Philosophy  of 
Religion.  God,  we  are  here  told,  is  tlie  moral 
ordering  of  the  universe. f  This  is  a  phrase  which 
is  naturally  misunderstood.  Not  only  our  common 
habit  of  thought,  but  even  the  system  of  Kant,  tends 
to  suggest  a  false  explanation  of  it.  By  a  moral 
ordering  of  the  universe  we  might  naturally  under- 
stand that  relation  of  things  by  which,  in  Kant's 
phrase,  happiness  is  made  proportionate  to  well- 
doing. It  would  be,  then,  an  ordering  by  which 
poetic  justice  is  rendered  to  all;  the  wicked  are  pun- 
ished, and  the  good  rewardeil.  Nothing  could  be 
farther  from  the  tliought  of  Fichte.  With  him, 
morality  is  severed  from  all  that  is  foreign  to  it. 
It  is  not  designed  to  minister  to  happiness.  It  is  its 
own  end;  and  everything  must  minister  to  it.  By 
the  moral  ordering  of  the  universe,  Fichte  means 
the  fact  that  morality  constitutes  the  essence  of  the 

*  Samnitliche  Wcrke,  V.    t  Same,  V,  18(i,  iiGl. 


TRANSITION   TO    ONTOLOGY.  257 

universe.  He  means  that  the  moral  impulse  forms 
the  very  substance  of  our  own  nature,  and  that  it 
shapes  for  us  the  external  world;  that  all  without  us 
is  the  postulate  of  duty,  and  that  all  withiu  us  is  the 
impulse  of  duty.  That  power  which  works  in  all 
toward  the  accomplishment  of  the  hitfhest  demand 
of  duty  is  what  ho  here  calls  God.  (Jod  is  the  power 
in  us  that  makes  for  righteousness.  That  mighty 
impulse  by  which  all  are  borne  on  toward  this 
common  end  is  the  pow(.'r  and  the  presence  of  God. 
He  constitutes  the  whole  of  this  mighty  movement, 
as  we  constitute,  each  in  his  place,  a  part  of  it.* 
Religion  that  contains  anything  foreign  to  this 
element  of  duty  is  superstition.  Fichte  makes  light 
of  the  common  arguments  for  the  divine  existence. 
He  mocks  at  those  who  base  their  faith  upon  the 
fact  that  the  world  ministers  to  the  happiness  of 
man.  "  Yes,"  he  cries,  "  keep  on,  pious  soul,  tasting 
how  sweet  are  these  grapes  and  how  spicy  this  apple, 
that  you  may  learn  to  prize  aiight  the  goodness  of 
God!  Poor,  perhajxs  well  meaning,  but  blind  bab- 
bler, all  the  pleasantness  that  is  scattered  through 
your  sensuous  existence  is  not  there  that  you  may 
brood  piously  over  it;  but  that  your  strength  may 
be  increased,  animated,  exalted,  in  order  that  you 
may  joyfully  perform  the  work  of  God  on  earth."  f 

Other  forms  of  argument  for  the  divine  existence 
fare  no  better  at  his  hands.  He  urges  that,  if  the 
world  is  a  real  and  solid  fact,  it  is,  once  for  all,  what 
it  is,  and  needs  no  ex]ilanation.  and  admits  of  none. 

*Sammtliche  Worke,  V,  201.  tSame,  V,  221. 

17 


258        fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  world  is,  as  the  idealist 
believes,  not  an  external,  solid  fact,  but  the  product 
of  the  imagination,  then  there  is  left  no  place  for 
reasoning,  based  on  the  idea  of  its  creation.*  The 
failure  of  these  arguments  need,  however,  cause  no 
uneasiness  to  the  devout  mind.  He  who  has  once 
felt  the  impulse  of  the  moral  life,  which  is  the  life 
of  God  in  the  soul,  needs  no  argument  to  prove  the 
reality  of  the  Divine  Being.  He  is  as  sure  of  it  as 
he  is  of  his  own  consciousness. f 

The  thought  of  Fichte  in  regard  to  the  being  of 
God  differed  from  that  ordinarily  held,  as  widely  as 
the  ground  upon  which  he  believed  in  the  divine 
reality  differed  from  that  upon  which  this  faith  is 
ordinarily  based.  We  have  only  two  schemata,  or 
forms  of  conception  and  representation  of  reality. 
We  conceive  of  reality,  either  under  the  form  of 
activity,  or  that  of  extended  matter.  We  can  think 
of  God  only  under  the  form  of  activity.  Such  words 
as  substance  and  being,  belong  under  the  second  of 
the  schemata.  Both  are  abstractions  from  the  expe- 
rience of  material  things.}:  We  cannot,  then,  in 
strictness,  speak,  as  I  have  just  spoken,  of  the  Divine 
Being.  In  the  phrase  of  the  schoolmen,  God  is 
actus  punif<.^ 

He  denies  consciousness  to  God ;  but,  when  he  does 
this  he  means,  he  tells  us,  "  our  own  consciousness, 
such  consciousness  as  we  can  understand."  Materi- 
ally speaking,  if  we  may  express  the  incomprehensi- 

*  Siimmtliche  VVerke.V.  179-80.      +  Saim',V,  dlO-11.      t  Samc,V,  259-bO- 
§Samc,  V,  201. 


TRANSITION    TO    O.VTOLCXiY.  'ioi) 

ble  in  siicli  manner  as  is  possible  to  us,  the  divinity 
must  be  affirmed  to  be  pure  consciousness.  It  is 
intelligence,  pure  intelligence,  spiritual  life  and 
activity.*  We  have  here  a  thought  like  that  of  the 
Hindu  philosophers  of  the  Upanishads  and  the  Ve- 
danta.  According  to  these  philosophers,  (iod  is  tiie 
pure  intelligence,  but,  being  infinite,  has  not  con- 
sciousness, for  there  is  no  consciousness  without 
duality.  In  Fichte's  phrase,  with  which  we  are 
already  familiar,  there  can  be  no  knowledge  of  the 
Me,  without  that  of  the  Not-me;  and  to  the  infinite 
there  can  be  no  Not-me,  and  thus  there  can  be  no 
Me. 

We  have  here  another  indication  that  Fichte  had 
in  his  mind  a  scheme  of  ontology,  which  he  has  so 
far  not  communicated  to  us.  God,  he  tells  us,  is 
intelligence  without  consciousness.  We  have  before 
seen  that  the  moral  life  within  us  is  a  manifestation 
of  the  divine  life;  and  we  might  suppose  that  this 
statement  exhausted  the  thought  of  the  life  of  God. 
The  distinction  that  we  have  just  noticed,  shows  that 
this  would  be  an  error.  We  possess  intelligence, 
existing  under  the  form  of  consciousness.  If  our 
higher  life  exhausted,  at  any  one  moment,  the  life  of 
God,  it  would  be  as  true  to  say  that  he  possesses 
consciousness,  as  that  he  is  intelligence.  The  fact 
that  pure  intelligence,  and  not  consciousness,  is 
ascribed  to  him,  shows  that  there  is  a  divine  reality 
above  and  beyond  our  little  existences.  The  thought 
of  Fichte  is  thus  seen  not  to  be,  as  yet,  fully  stated. 

*  Silmmtliche  Werke,  V,  266. 


260       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

We  have  thus  examined  the  more  important 
statements  of  Fichte  in  regai'd  to  God,  as  they  are 
contained  in  the  works  of  his  "earlier"  period.  We 
approach  his  later  works,  not  expecting  to  find  a 
new  philosophy,  but  expecting  the  completion,  and 
thus  the  explanation,  of  his  earlier  writings. 


CTTAPTER   XTL 

oNTor.or.v. 

THE  work  of  Ficlite  entitled,  Tlie  Way  to  the 
Blessed  Life,*  has  been  generally  accepted  as 
the  best  exponent  of  what  lias  been  often  regarded 
as  his  later  philosophy.  In  this  work,  he  insists 
upon  the  idea  of  absolute  being,  as  contrasted  with 
existence.  For  this  idea  there  seemed  no  basis  in 
his  earlier  writings;  and  therefore  it  has  been  sup- 
posed that  Fichte  was  here  taking  a  position  largely, 
if  not  wholly,  different  from  that  which  he  had 
before  occupied.  This  view^  has  been  held,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  Fichte,  in  the  preface  to  this  work, 
insists  that  his  system  has  undergone  no  change 
since  its  first  utterance. 

In  deciding  the  question  whether  or  not  the  as- 
sumption of  a  change  in  the  philosophy  of  Fichte  be 
correct,  everything  depends  upon  tlie  sense  in  which 
the  word,  Being,  is  used.  The  needed  e\[)lanation  is 
found  in  more  scientific  statements,  which  belong 
also  to  the  later  period.  These  show  that  In-ing  is 
affirmed  in  a  sense  wholly  dilferent  from  that  in 
which  its  reality  had  earlier  been  denied,  and  in  a 
sense  wholly  in  accord  with  iho  system  of  Fichte,  as 
it  had  been  taught  from  the  beginning. 

*  Die  Aiiweisung  zum  Seligoii  LcIhu;  oiler  aiuli  die  Ktligioiijilehn,'. 
2t;i 


262        fichte's  sciexce  of  knowledge. 

We  can  best  reach  the  thought  of  Fichte,  by 
affirming  with  him  the  absoluteness  of  knowledge. 
By  knowledge,  he  means  not  subjective  knowledge, 
mine  and  yours,  but  something  independent  of  all 
individual  existence,  the  sphere  in  which,  and 
through  which,  all  Individual  consciousness  exists. 
All  being,  he  tells  us,  is  knowledge.*  By  this  affirm- 
ation, he  excludes  everything  that  is  foreign  to 
thought.  We  have  what  Fichte  was  pleased  to  hear 
described  as  an  "inverted  Spinozism."  Spinoza 
made  thought  an  attribute  of  being  or  substance. 
Fichte  found  being  in  thought  itself.  Fichte  in- 
sisted upon  the  absurdity  that  was  involved  in  the 
attempt  of  Spinoza  to  have  a  ])hilosophy  of  being, 
independent  of  thought,  wliereas,  so  soon  as  we  speak 
of  being,  or  think  of  it,  it  has  become  a  thought.f 
This  idea  of  absolute  knowledge,  we  have  already 
found  involved  in  Fichte's  earlier  discussion. 

When  we  look  at  the  matter  more  closely,  how- 
ever, we  find  that  knowledge  itself  cannot  be  the 
Absolute.  As  Fichte  phrases  it,  it  is  absolute  knowl- 
edge, but  not  the  Absolute.^  The  Absolute  has  no 
limiting  epithet.  It  is  not  absolute  anything;  it  is 
simply  itself.  When  we  look  at  the  matter  closely, 
we  see  that  this  distinction  here  insisted  upon  is 
nothing  formal  or  artificial,  but  one  to  which  we 
are  driven  b}'  the  processes  of  our  own  thought. 
The  Al)solute,  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word,  must 

*  AUes  Seyn  ist  Wissen.—  Siimmtliche  Werke,  II,  35. 
tXachgt'lassene  Werke,  11.  320,  et  seq. 
JSuiniulliche  Werke,  II,  V2,  ii. 


ONTOLOGY.  2G3 

be  regarded  as  a  perfect  unity.  Knowledge  involves, 
by  its  very  nature,  a  dualism.  Knowledge  implies 
both  subject  and  object,  even  although  those  may 
not  be  consciously  separated.  If  we  regard  our 
own  consciousness  as  representing,  in  a  concrete 
form,  the  knowledge  of  which  Fichte  speaks,  the 
point  under  consideration  will  become  clear.  In 
consciousness  we  have  two  elements,  the  I  and  the 
Me.  The  I  is  not  the  real  being*  manifested  by 
the  personality.  It  re[)resen(s  this  being.  It  is  its 
image.  It  is  the  form  under  which  it  exists:  but  of 
this  being  itself,  we  can  have  no  conception,  except 
that  we  may  consider  it  as  the  ultimate  reality 
which  manifests  itself  through  the  I  and  the  Me. 
Thus  the  absolute  knowledge  of  which  Fichte  si)eaks 
is  merely  the  existence  or  manifestation  of  the  i-eal 
Absolute,  which  can  be  thought  of  only  as  mani- 
festing itself  under  this  form.  To  this  Absolute 
Fichte  gives  the  name  of  God,  when  he  uses  this 
name  in  its  highest  and  most  distinctive  sense.  He 
still  speaks,  however,  of  life  in  that  knowledge 
which  forms  the  Divine  existence,  as  life  in  God. 
The  relation  between  knowledge — which  is  the  form 
of  the  Divine  existence — and  the  Absolute  Being,  is 
thus  expressed  in  The  Way  to  the  Blessed  Life:  "'  The 
real  life  of  knowledge  is  therefore  in  its  root,  the 
inner  being  and  essence  of  the  Absolute  itself;  and 
there  is  between  the  Absolute,  or  God,  and  knowl- 
edge, in  the  dee[)est  root  of  its  life,  no  difference; 
but  the  two  become  lost  in  one  another."  * 

♦Saimutliilit,'  Wfi-ko,  V,  U-i. 


264       fichte's  sciexce  of  knowledge. 

It  will  be  seen  that  we  are  still  in  the  sphere 
within  which  the  system  of  Fichte  would  confine  us 
from  the  first.  There  is  no  reality  but  thought,  and 
that  which  is  involved  in  the  very  fact  of  thought  it- 
self. Although  the  phraseology  of  the  system  some- 
times resembles  that  of  Spinoza,  the  difference  be- 
tween Fichte  and  Spinoza  is  as  wide  as  ever,  and 
every  criticism  upon  Spinoza,  in  Fichte's  earlier 
works,  would  ba  wholly  in  place  in  these  later  ones.* 

The  relations  that  have  been  described,  and  those 
which  grew  out  of  them,  are  presented  by  Fichte 
with  great  freedom,  and  under  various  forms. 
These  presentations  become,  in  some  respects,  more 
and  more  elaborate;  the  latest — those  connected  with 
his  teaching  in  the  University  at  Berlin — being  the 
most  marked  in  this  respect.f  While  the  form  va- 
ries, however,  the  point  of  view  and  the  central 
thought  remain  the  same. 

We  have,  in  all  presentations,  the  distinction  be- 
tween being  and  existence  or  manifestation,  the 
nature  of  which  I  have  already  explained.  In  the 
more  elaboi'ate  statements  we  have  this  existence 
presented  under  three  forms,  or  stages,  sometimes 
called  the  images  of  Himself  projected  by  God,  and 
sometimes  the  schemata  under  which  He  is  mani- 
fested. The  first  of  these  is  pure  existence,  or,  more 
definitely,  pure  knowledge. 

♦The  best  introduction  to  Ficlites  Ontology,  is,  ])('rtiap9,  the 
statement  of  1801  —  Siiinnilliclie  Wcrlvc,  II.  The  idea  of  the  Abso- 
lute is,  however,  brouglit  out  most  fully  in  tliat  of  1804 — Nachge- 
lassene  Wcrke,  II,  87  et  seq. 

tNachgelussene  Werkc. 


ONTOLOGY.  205  - 

Tliis  is  absolute,  unchanging,  and  unl)roken. 
This,  Fichte  nioi-e  than  once  compares  to  the  Word, 
which,  according  to  St.  John,  was  iritlt  God  and  mis 
God.  This  knowledge  does  not  extend  to  itself.  It 
does  not  involve  consciousness.  To  the  voiy  close 
of  his  philosophical  work,  Fichte  insisted  that  for 
consciousness  there  must  be  limitation;  but  this 
absolute  knowledge  has  no  limit,  and  thus  no  con- 
sciousness. Not  only  has  it  uo  consciousness;  it  has 
no  power  of  activity — for  action,  no  less  than  con- 
sciousness, implies  duality. 

The  second  of  the  schemata  under  which  the 
Absolute  Being  finds  its  manifestation,  is  that  by 
which,  alone,  activity  and  consciousness  can  be  at- 
tained. This  is  Life.  It  is  spoken  of  as  an  endless 
stream  which  concentrates  itself  into  points  of  con- 
sciousness. This  life,  in  order  to  attain  to  complete 
self-consciousness,  requires  not  only  the  subjective 
element  manifested  in  these  points  of  concentration; 
it  needs,  also,  an  objective  element,  ll  must  numi- 
fest  itself  to  itself.  If,  for  the  subjective  factor, 
it  needs  to  concentrate  itself  into  points,  for  the 
objective  element  it  needs  also  to  be  broken  up. 
to  assume  the  form  of  ijuantitication.  The  infinite, 
as  such,  can  no  more  be  perceived  than  it  can 
perceive.  This  life  must,  therefore,  manifest  itself 
by  degrees  and  i)iecemeal.  It  must  exist  under  tlie 
form  of  time.  Time  is  the  unrolling  of  the  pano- 
rama of  endless  existence.  In  this  process  of  life, 
each  individual  has  his  jilace.  and  thus  his  special 
work,  in  relation  to  the  Lfreat  whole. 


266        fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

We  have  thus  presented  two  schemata;  knowledge, 
and  knowledge  of  knowledge,  which  is  consciousness. 
This  is  developed  under  the  form  of  life.  One  more 
step  is,  however,  to  be  taken.  In  life,  we  have  self- 
knowledge;  but  it  is  not  conscious  of  itself  as  self- 
knowledge.  This  self-knowledge  must  itself  be  raised 
to  a  higher  power.  To  state  this  more  fully:  In  life, 
the  individual  has  knowledge.  The  universe  of 
thought  and  life  is  open  to  it.  It  stands,  however, 
more  or  less  as  a  stranger.  It  feels  itself  sur- 
rounded by  objects  that  are  more  or  less  foreign  to 
itself.  It  knows;  but  it  does  not  know  that  the 
object  of  its  knowledge  is  itself.  The  third  of  the 
schemata  under  which  absolute  being  is  manifested, 
is  thus  the  conscAoHsness  of  self-coiiseioiis)ifss.  This 
higliest  stage  is  reached  by  philosophy.  More  espe- 
cially is  it  first  fully  reached  by  the  Science  of  Knowl- 
edge. This  first  attains  to  the  thought  that  knowl- 
edge, not  being,  is  the  oitlij  object  of  philosophy. 
It  first,  therefore,  reaches  the  tliought  of  the  abso- 
luteness of  knowledge;  and  thus  does  it  reach  the 
full  idea  tiiat  in  knowledge  the  I  finds  only  itself — 
that  thereby  it  comes  face  to  face  with  the  absolute- 
ness of  its  own  nature. 

In  the  stud}'  of  Fichte's  earlier  works  we  were 
gradually  approaching  the  results  just  stated.  In 
doing  tliis  we  were  conscious  of  moving  with  diffi- 
culty. At  every  step  elements  were  introduced  that 
could  not  have  been  deduced  from  earlier  stages. 
We  started  with  tlie  expectation  that  the  system  was 
to  grow  as  if  from  a  single  root.     At  every  stei)  we 


ONTOLOGY.  207 

have  been  disappointed.  Independence  or  self-asser- 
tion was  made  synonymous  with  duty.  ^Vhy  tliis 
was  so  we  could  not  see.  Next,  we  were  startled 
with  the  statement  that  self-assertion,  carried  out 
to  its  absolute  result,  became  self-eflacement.  Fur- 
ther, as  the  thought  of  the  T  was  developed  as  if  it 
stood  alone,  we  could  not  understand  whence  came 
the  other  Ts  to  which  reference  was  made.  'I'hen, 
without  explanation  or  preparation,  appeared  the 
great  name  of  God.  Finally,  an  explanation  of  this 
name  was  given,  but  one  which  left  contradictions 
still  to  be  explained. 

The  trouble  was  that  we  were  starting  at  the 
wrong  end  of  the  system.  We  began,  indeed, 
where  Fichte  began;  but  he  began  with  what  most 
interested  him  at  the  time,  and  with  what  he  had 
most  thoroughly  wrought  out.  Indeed,  of  all  his 
statements,  none  is  so  perfect  as  his  hrst.  We  have 
seen,  in  the  short  sketch  of  the  life  of  Fichte,  how 
continually  he  was  interrupted  in  his  philosophic 
work.  It  must  be  confessed,  too,  that  Fichte  could 
not  easily  put  himself  into  the  point  of  view^  of  his 
readers.  He  could  not  realize  that  they  did  not 
know  all  that  he  knew,  and  that,  for  them,  there 
was  not  the  same  background  of  philosophic  thought 
that  there  was  for  him.  Thus  he  was  surprised  at 
misapprehensions  for  which  he  himself  was  largely 
responsible. 

However  all  this  may  be.  when  we  have  reached 
the  Ontology  we  have  found  a  point  of  view  from 
which  the  svstem  becomes  a  unit.      Whatever  diffi- 


268         FICHTE's   SCIEIfCE   OF   KNOWLEDGE. 

culties  or  contradictions  may  remain,  at   least   ail 
those  that  have  thus  far  troubled  us  disappeai'. 

We  now  see  the  true  nature  of  the  I.  It  consists 
of  two  elements.  It  is  at  once  the  universal  and 
the  individual.  It  is  one  of  the  points  of  concentra- 
tion at  which  the  Absolute  Life  becomes  conscious  of 
itself.  Its  being  is,  then,  at  heart,  this  Absolute  Life, 
of  which  it  is  a  manifestation.  We  understand  now 
something  of  the  nature  of  that  limit  which  sug- 
gests to  the  T,  whose  activity  impinges  upon  it,  the 
thought  of  the  Not-me.  We  see  now  that  Fichte 
had  a  definite  meaning  when  he  said  that  this 
might  be  only  a  limit.  If  the  Absolute  Life  concen- 
trates itself  into  a  point  of  consciousness,  this  con- 
centration implies  a  limit.  The  limit  exists  by  the 
very  act  of  concentration.  We  see  now  how  it  is 
possible  that  this  limit  should  become  enlarged;  and 
whence  comes  the  content  of  the  endless  life  that 
shall  fill  out  the  expanding  limit  into  infinitude. 
We  see  how  it  is  the  destiny  of  the  soul  thus  to 
enlarge  itself,  to  make  itself  free  of  the  Not-me, 
which  represents  to  it  the  limit  within  which  it  is 
inclosed.  We  understand  thus  the  meaning  of  the 
demand  for  absolute  self-assertion,  and  how  ihis 
self-assertion  is  one  with  the  al)Solute  law  of  moral- 
ity. The  individual,  affirming  himself,  affirms  this 
larger  life,  of  which  lie  is  the  manifestation.  INlak- 
ing  himself  free  of  the  outward  shows  of  things  that 
he  first  takes  for  reality,  and  turning  toward  liis 
own  central  life,  he  finds  himself;  and.  finding  him- 
self, he  finds  that  Absolute  Life  which  is  his  true 


ONTOLOGY.  309 

self.  We  thus  understand  the  nature  of  the  funda- 
mental truths  of  the  reason — those  which  furnish 
the  basis  for  all  a  priori  affirmation;  and  we  see 
thus  how  such  affirmation  brings  with  it  an  absolute 
authority,  such  as  no  a  posteriori  reasoning,  based 
upon  no  matter  what  accumulation  of  i)henomenii, 
can  ever  have.*  These  truths  are  the  ex|)ression  of 
the  Absolute  Life,  which  forms  the  essence  of  all  indi- 
vidual life.  Since,  however,  this  Absolute  Life  is  a 
life,  it  will  manifest  itself  chiefly  under  the  foiiii  of 
activity.  It  will  be  not  so  mucli  something  to  be 
believed,  as  something  to  be  done.  Since  tliat  which 
is  to  be  done  is  the  demand  of  the  Absolute  Life,  it 
will  admit  of  no  explanation  or  justification.  It 
will  be  a  categorical  imperative.  It  will  be  some- 
thing original  and  spontaneous  that  requires  im- 
plicit and  unquestioning  obedience.  Thus  the  para- 
dox that  baffled  us  is  removed.  Self-assertion  tends 
to  self-eft'acement.  Independence  is  rationality  and 
morality  in  one.  It  is  the  entrance,  more  and  more 
perfectly,  into  the  Divine  Life. 

The  so-called  earlier  and  later  sj'stems  of  Fichte 
are  seen  thus  to  be  the  complemental  elements  of  a 
single  system.  The  great  difference  between  them 
is  found  in  the  fact  that,  in  his  earlier  works,  Fichte 
started  from  psychological  anal3'sis,  and  moved 
toward  an  ontology;  in  his  later  works,  he  started 
from  the  ontology,  and  based  his  psychology  directly 
upon  this. 

The  Ontology,  it  must  be  noticed,  does  not  form 

*  Sammtliche  Werke,  II,  6. 


270       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

the  substance  of"  the  later  statements  of  the  Science  of 
Knowledge.  It  forms  simply  the  introduction  to 
what  is  really  in  its  aim  as  in  its  title,  a  Scicuce  of 
K)ion-led(je.  The  later  works,  like  the  earlier,  find 
their  real  inspiration  in  the  thought  of  the  moral 
law,  as  manifested  under  the  form  of  the  Categorical 
Imperative.  If  the  precise  forms  of  the  earlier  are 
not  reproduced,  the  I  and  the  Not-me,  the  impinging 
upon  a  limit,  and  the  rest,  it  is  because  these  have 
been,  once  for  all,  developed,  and  are  henceforth 
taken  for  granted. 

I  will  now  state  more  fully  the  general  view  of 
the  universe,  upon  which  is  based  the  system  of 
Fichte.*  He  recognized  no  reality  except  that  of 
God,  and  of  finite  spirits.  In  rejecting  the  imputa- 
tion that  he  was  an  atheist,  he  claimed  with  right 
that  he  might  more  truthfully  be  called  an  akosmist. 
What  we  call  the  material  universe  is  the  creation 
of  the  productive  imagination.  By  this  is  not  meant 
that  it  is  produced  arbitrarily,  and  is  thus  the  pro- 
duction of  fancy.  It  results  from  the  laws  of  the 
spiritual  life. 

The  I  is  doubly  limited.  It  has,  first,  that  limit 
which  makes  it  finite,  that  limit  against  which  its 
activity  impinges,  and  from  which  it  is  reflected 
back  toward  its  source;  and.  secondly,  it  has  a  lim- 
itation within  its  nature,  according  to  which  the 
imagination,  if  it  work  at  all.  must  work  under  such 

*This  part  of  the  subject  was  most  fully  treated  by  Ficlite,  under 
the  heading,  Facts  of  Consciousness.— Die  Thatsachen  des  Bewusst- 
seyns.— Sammtliche  Werke,  II,  5'j5,  ct  seq.— Nachgelassene  Werke, 
I,  401,  et  seq. 


ONTOLOGY.  271 

and  such  forms.  It  is  this  fact  which  gives  to  the 
external  world  the  permanency  that  we  recognize. 
It  is  upon  this  that  depends  the  fact  that  we  all 
recognize  the  same  world.  Fichte  aflirms  that  it  is 
a  mistake  to  understand  him  to  maintain  that  the 
external  world  is  posited  merely  by  the  individual.* 
It  is,  in  fact,  posited  by  the  life,  which  is  mani- 
fested through  the  individual.  It  is  thus  something 
permanent,  something  in  which  the  individual  can 
make  changes,  which  shall  endure  beyond  his  own 
life.  By  this  is  meant  that  the  external  world  is 
posited  according  to  a  law  of  harmonious  activity, 
to  which  all  individuals  are  subject. 

The  stream  of  life  is,  as  we  have  seen,  one  form 
of  the  existence  or  manifestation  of  God.  The 
world  is  thus  such  a  manifestation.  In  order  to  be 
such,  it  must  obviously  contain  that  which  is  Divine. 
It  must  also  contain  that  which  is  not  Divine;  for 
that  which  is  Divine  can  be  recognized  only  by  con- 
trast. As  has  been  already  stated,  this  manifesta- 
tion must  be  under  the  form  of  time;  that  is,  it 
must  be  progressive.  Every  generation  has  thus  its 
place  in  the  great  movement.  There  is  thus  a  duty 
laid  upon  every  period  in  the  history  of  the  world. 
We  have  here  the  foundation  for  a  Philosophy  of 
History,  such  as  is  indicated  in  the  Characteristics  of 
the  Present  Age.f  and  in  the  Theory  of  the  State. t 
In  this  development  every  individual  has  his  place. 
Each  has  a  special  duty  and  a  special  ideal.     If  he 

*  Sammtliche  Werkc,  II,  607.  tDie  Griindziige  des  gegcnwarti- 
gen  Zeitaltcrs.—  Sammtliche  Werke.VI.  X  Staatslehrc—  Sammtliche 
Werke,  IV. 


272       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

fulfils  these,  then  he  will  at  last  have  learned  the 
lesson  of  this  world,  and  will  be  introduced  into 
another  and  a  higher;  and  thua  shall  he  press  on 
from  world  to  world  in  an  endless  progress.  If  he 
fails  of  his  duty,  he  drops  out  of  the  grand  move- 
ment, and  others  take  his  place. 

The  power  working  through  this  grand  progress 
of  the  individual  and  of  the  race,  Fichte  calls  the 
Divine  and  Eternal  Will.  The  word,  AVill,  must  not 
be  understood  as  referring  to  any  conscious  act  of 
Divine  volition.  It  is  taken  as  the  best  word  which 
our  human  speech  can  offer  for  that  which  it  cannot 
fully  name.  This  Eternal  Will  manifests  itself  in 
the  will  of  the  individual,  so  far  as  this  chooses  the 
highest.  In  this  finite  will,  the  Absolute  \Vill  comes 
to  a  consciousness  of  itself.  This  higher  Will  man- 
ifests itself,  indeed,  in  every  act  of  the  individual 
will;  for  action,  so  far  as  it  goes,  is  life;  only  it  is 
life  that  has  not  yet  reached  the  absoluteness  that 
belongs  to  it.  This  Infinite  Will,  and  these  finite 
wills  in  which  it  is  embodied,  furnish  all  ihe  reality 
that  there  is  in  the  world  of  existence.  All  things 
else  are  appearances  that  offer  occasion  or  scope  for 
the  manifestation  of  this  Will. 

The  fact  that  the  objects  that  make  up  our  world 
are  merely  appearances  created  by  our  own  imagi- 
nation, does  not,  Fichte  is  careful  to  insist,  make  of 
them  illusions.  He  objects  to  Kant's  use  of  this 
term.  They  would  be  illusions  if  there  were  any- 
thing more  real  with  which  to  comuare  them.     As 


ONTOLOGY.  273 

it  is,  they  are  the  ultimate  reality,  and  thus  may  be 
truly  accepted  as  such. 

It  may  be  interesting  to  call  attention  to  certain 
aspects  of  Fichte's  view  of  the  world  that  made  it 
attractive  from  the  point  of  view  of  religion.  If 
it  lost  the  help  that  conies  from  the  (i  posteriori 
argument,  it  escaped  the  difficulties  that  are  in- 
volved in  this.  The  world  is  the  projection  of 
human  spirits,  and  represents  the  stage  which  they 
have  reached.  (Jod  is  practically  recognized  as  an 
ideal,  and  may  thus  be  seen  in  absolute  beauty  and 
completeness.  One  can  do«bt  His  reality  and  His 
perfection  no  more  than  one  can  doubt  his  own 
being.  At  the  same  time,  it  is  affirmed,  from  the 
beginning,  that  it  is  by  the  Divine  Life  within  it 
that  the  spirit  pi*esses  on  toward  the  Divine  Ideal. 
In  regard  to  this  impulse  within  us,  there  can  be  as 
little  doubt  as  in  regard  to  the  ideal  toward  which 
it  points.  God  is  thus  recognized  as  the  most  cer- 
tain of  realities. 

The  ideal  to  w^hich  the  soul  aspires  is  infinite. 
So  soon  as  one  form  has  been  attained,  another  and 
higher  takes  its  place.  In  the  fact  of  its  impulse  to 
attain  to  this  ideal,  the  spirit  finds  the  pledge  of  its 
own  immortality. 
18 


CHAPTER   XriL 

COMPARISON  WITH  SCHOPENHAUER  AND  WITH 
HEGEL;  CRITICISM  AND  CONCLUSION. 

THE  Will,  wliicli,  according  to  the  thought  of 
Fichte,  works  through  all  things,  which  is  ab- 
solute, and,  because  absolute,  unconscious  of  itself, 
suggests,  naturally,  a  comparison  between  the  sys- 
tem of  Fichte  and  that  of  Schopenhauer.  The  two 
systems  have  great  points  of  similarity,  and  of  dif- 
ference. Both  undertake  to  complete  the  work  of 
Kant,  and  to  complete  it  in  very  much  the  same 
direction.  Among  the  passages  in  Kant  tc  which 
Schopenhauer  refers  as  marking  the  point  at  which 
his  system  starts  from  that  of  Kant,  is  one  that 
stands  in  close  connection  with  that  which  Fichte 
refers  to  as  marking  the  point  where  his  own  inde- 
pendent work  began.  The  problems  which  each 
undertakes  to  solve,  although  at  heart  the  same,  yet 
pi'esent  certain  specific  differences,  which  shaped  the 
activity  of  each,  lioth  undertook  to  bring  a  unity 
into  realms  which  Kant  left  divided.  While  Fichte 
sought,  however,  to  reduce  to  a  unity  the  practical 
and  the  theoretical  reasons,  Schopenhauer  sought 
to  reduce  to  a  unity  the  subjective  and  the  objec- 
tive worlds.      The   terms   by  which    each    described 

271 


COMPARISONS.  275 

reality  are  practically  the  same;  both  recoj^nized 
the  phenomenal  nature  of  the  objective  world,  and 
both  used  the  term,  Will,  to  express  the  ultimate 
reality  in  ourselves,  and  in  the  universe.  The  rela- 
tion to  one  another  of  the  realities  covered  by  these 
terms  was,  however,  different  in  the  two  systems. 
With  Fichte,  the  relation  between  the  two  was  care- 
fully wrought  out  through  the  long  psychological 
study  which  we  have  analyzed.  With  Schoi^en- 
hauer,  each  was  left  in  the  independence  in  which  it 
originally  offers  itself  to  us.  Further,  with  Fichte, 
the  world  of  objects,  exclusive  of  persons,  was  simply 
the  creation  of  the  productive  imagination,  and  rep- 
resented no  reality  except  that  of  the  mind  possess- 
ing the  imagination;  while  to  Schopenhauer,  each 
represented  a  manifestation  of  the  Absolute  Will, 
similar  to  that  which  we  find  within  ourselves. 
Thus,  though  the  objective  world,  so  far  as  its  ap- 
pearance is  concerned,  is  in  both  systems  the  creation 
of  the  mind,  the  objective  world  of  Schopenhauer 
has  more  reality  than  that  of  Fichte.  It  has  indeed 
the  same  reality  that  is  possessed  by  the  world  of 
persons. 

The  essential  point  of  resemblance  in  the  two  sys- 
tems is  found  in  the  fact  that  each  recognizes  the 
universe  in  general,  and  the  individual  in  particu- 
lar, as  the  manifestation  of  an  Infinite  Will  that  is 
never  satisfied,  and  that  through  all  eternity  can 
never  become  satisfied.  Its  very  being  is  to  will, 
and  it  reaches  one  attainment,  only  to  demand 
another.     This  Will  demands  merely  for  the  sake  of 


276       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

demanding  —  because  it  is  its  natui-e  to  demand.  It 
can  give  no  reason  for  its  volition.  The  resem- 
blance of  this  to  the  Categorical  Imperative  of  Kant, 
Fichte,  as  we  have  seen,  insisted  on,  and  made  the 
basis  of  his  thought.  In  the  case  of  Schopenhauer, 
the  resemblance  is  no  less  striking,  though  the  Will 
by  him  is  regarded  from  a  different  point  of  view. 

The  two  systems  l)eing  so  similar  in  this  most 
important  respect,  it  is  interesting  to  consider  why 
one  is  a  system  of  absolute  pessimism,  and  the  other 
is  one,  not  indeed  of  optimism,  but  of  hope  and 
courage.  This  question  becomes  specially  interest- 
ing when  we  consider  how  near  Fichte  himself 
comes  to  pessimism.  In  one  place  he  distinctly  says 
that  the  world,  so  far  from  being  the  best  possible, 
is,  on  account  of  its  nothingness,  the  worst  possible.* 
The  general  course  of  his  thought  might  easily  lead 
to  a  pessiniism  precisely  similar  to  that  of  Schopen- 
hauer. As  we  have  seen,  consciousness  with  him 
springs  from  the  fact  that  the  will  of  the  individ- 
ual cannot  accomplish  itself.  It  comes  from  the 
disparity  between  the  ideal  and  the  actual.  If  the 
world  conformed  to  our  wish,  we  should  not  know 
it  to  be  a  world.  Consciousness  may  thus  be  said  to 
have  its  root  and  its  essence  in  unhappiness.  It 
will  be  seen  how  close  this  comes  to  the  position  of 
Schopenhauer  in  regard  to  happiness;  namely,  that 
what  we  call  happiness  consists  only  in  the  removal 
of  pain;  that  it  becomes  less,  the  more  the  discom- 
fort  is    lessened,   and   ceases   when    the    discomfort 

*SamintliclK'  VV'crke,  II,  157. 


COMPAHISOXS.  277 

ceases.  How  sweet  is  water  to  one  tormented  by 
thirst!  How  insipid  when  the  thirst  disappears! 
Happiness  thus  always  nestles  in  the  bosom  of  un- 
happiness;  it  can,  therefore,  never  be  positive.  It 
implies  only  a  mitigation  of  discomfort.  It  is  upon 
this  fact  that  Schopenhauer  bases  his  pessinjism. 
Fichte's  theory  of  consciousness,  it  is  obvious,  points 
in  the  same  direction.  If  our  consciousness  springs 
from  dissatisfaction,  it  might  be  urged  that  we  are 
conscious  only  of  that  which  is  unsatisfying.  We 
n)ight  thus  seem  to  be  approaching  a  pessimism 
precisely  similar  to  that  of  Schopenhauer. 

When  we  look  more  closely  at  the  systems,  we 
find,  however,  one  great  point  of  difference.  The 
system  of  Fichte  recognizes  a  goal  toward  which  the 
Will  is  pressing.  This  goal,  indeed,  is  infinitely 
removed,  and  thus  can  never  be  reached;  but  the 
movement  toward  it  involves  a  gain  with  eveiy  ad- 
vance. The  object  of  its  striving  is  that  the  life  of 
the  individual  shall  become  one  with  the  life  of  God. 
Though  this  can  never  be  accomplished,  yet  the  life 
of  the  individual  becomes  more  and  more  a  part  of 
this  Divine  life,  and  thus  acquires  continually  more 
fulness  and  reality.  Its  advance  cannot  be  meas- 
ured by  its  approach  toward  an  end,  for  from  this 
it  must  remain  always  infiniteh'  removed;  it  can, 
however,  be  measured  by  its  movement  away  from 
the  point  at  which  it  started.  As  every  step  for- 
ward brings  with  it  such  real  fruition  as  has  been 
described,  tlie  fact  that  the  progress  is  an  endless 
one  may  add  to  it  a  new   joy.      It  may  become  an 


278       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

endless  and  glad  ascent  up  the  heights  of  being. 
The  Will  of  Schopenhauer,  on  the  other  hand,  recog- 
nizes no  such  ideal.  It  simply  presses  on  without 
starting  point  or  goal.  Its  course  is  movement,  but 
not  progress.  It  wills  for  the  sake  of  willing.  Its 
action  is  thus  purely  formal  and  without  consent. 
Thus  there  is  no  place  for  the  triumphant  joy 
which  furnishes  its  inspiration  to  the  system  of 
Fichte,  or  for  the  hope  that,  according  to  this  sys- 
tem, ever  leads  on  the  soul  to  fresh  attainments. 

A  comparison  of  the  system  of  Fichte  with  that 
of  Hegel  furnishes  many  points  of  interest.  The 
woi'k  of  Fichte  was  unquestionably  one  of  the  most 
important  factors  in  the  preparation  of  Hegel  for 
his  career.  Fichte  saw  more  clearly  than  it  had 
been  seen  before,  what  is  the  true  nature  of  philos- 
ophy, and  what  should  be  the  ideal  toward  which 
it  should  strive.  He  adopted  the  method  which 
proved  so  mighty  in  the  hands  of  Hegel.  The  dia- 
lectic process  which  proceeds  from  simple  affirma- 
tion, through  negation,  to  that  higher  affirmation 
which  springs  from  the  negation  of  the  negation, 
was  the  pulse  beat  of  the  system  of  Fichte,  as  it 
became  afterward  tliat  of  Hegel's.  Thesis,  antithe- 
sis, and  synthesis  furnisli  the  formula  according  to 
which  the  thought  of  Fichte  developed  itself.  This 
involves  a  practical  difficulty  similar  to  that  which 
so  many  have  found  in  the  study  of  Hegel.  A 
proposition  is  given  as  if  it  were  final.  The  stu- 
dent rests  in  that,  and  thinks  he  has  found  some- 
thing that  is  fixed.     Soon,  however,  he  finds   that 


COMPARISONS.  279 

this  was  only  a  temporary  result  wliicli  is  to  be 
broken  up  by  some  new  analysis.  In  the  case  of 
both  Fichte  and  llegcl,  many  have  not  discovered 
the  mistake.  They  have  learned  their  lesson  and 
remembered  it;  and  have  sn|)posed  that  they  have 
thus  the  final  word  of  the  master. 

If  Fichtti  was  the  first  to  recognize  this  method, 
it  must  be  confessed  that  Hegel  has  used  it  with  the 
greatest  skill.  As  so  often  hap[)ens  in  the  case  of 
discovery  or  invention,  the  method  of  l''i(-hte  was 
carried  to  a  greater  perfection  in  other  hands  than 
it  reached  in  his  own.  A  single  example  nuiy 
illustrate  this.  It  seemed  a  marvellous  audacity  in 
Fichte,  that  he  undertook  to  create  a  system  out  of 
two  propositions,  that  of  identity  and  that  of  con- 
tradiction. Hegel,  however,  with  an  audacity  yet 
more  startling,  undertook  to  reduce  these  two  prop- 
ositions to  one:  developing  the  proposition  of  nega- 
tion out  of  the  very  heart  of  the  aftirmation  itself. 
Another  illustration,  on  a  larger  scale,  of  the 
greater  fineness  and  completeness  of  the  work  of 
Hegel,  considered  in  its  formal  aspect,  may  be  found 
in  the  relation  of  the  individual  to  the  universal. 
Fichte  tells  us  sini|)ly  that  the  Absolute  Life  concen- 
trates itself  into  [toints  of  consciousness.  This 
statement  is  im-lusive  of  the  greater  part  of  the 
system  of  Hegel.  What  Fichte  states  in  a  single 
[iroposition  is  thus  by  Hegel  expanded  into  a  dia- 
lectic process  which  taxes  our  severest  thought,  as 
we  follow  the  steps  by  which  Absolute  Being  becomes 
spirit.     Some   parts   of    his   system    Fichte,    indeed, 


280        fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

wrought  out  with  a  skill  that  could  not  be  sur- 
passed; but,  on  the  whole,  it  is  Hegel  who  makes  us 
feel  ourselves  most  really  in  the  presence  of  the 
master  of  a  constructive  dialectic. 

In  regard  to  the  content  of  the  two  systems  we 
find  also  both  resemblance  and  contrast.  I  shall  not 
undertake  to  pronounce  upon  any  of  the  vexed 
questions  in  regard  to  the  position  of  Hegel;  and 
thus  our  comparison  must  be  less  absolute  than  if 
we  could  assume  this  position  to  have  been  in 
accordance  with  one  or  the  other  of  the  views 
ascribed  to  him.  The  so-called  left  wing  of  the 
Hegelian  school  will,  however,  serve  our  purpose 
best.  According  to  the  interpretation  of  this  school, 
Hegel  taught  that  Absolute  Being,  which  is  in  itself 
one  with  Absolute  Thought,  comes  to  consciousness  of 
itself  only  in  the  individual  spirit.  This  is  so  far  the 
position  also  of  Fichte.  With  him,  Absolute  Knowl- 
edge, in  which  Being  or  God  exists,  comes  to  self- 
consciousness  in  the  individual.  So  far  as  T  have 
noticed,  however,  the  writers  of  the  school  of  Hegel- 
ians to  which  I  have  referred,  emphasize  one  side 
of  this  relationship,  while  Fichte  emphasized  the 
other.  With  them,  I  think,  the  emithasis  is  more 
often  placed  on  the  negative  side  of  the  statement; 
namely,  that  only  in  man  is  God  conscious.  With 
Fichte,  however,  the  emphasis  is  wholly  ditferent. 
He  wrote  under  the  inspiration  of  the  most  sublime 
consciousness  of  God.  The  fact  that  the  life  of  the 
individual  is  a  manifestation  of  the  Infinite  and  the 
Divine  Life,  filled  him  with  awe,  and  was  tlie  source, 


COMPARISONS.  281 

as  it  was  the  outcome,  of  the  loftiest  religious 
euthusiasiii. 

This  last  i^oint  suggests  a  great  difference  be- 
tween the  systems  of  Fichte  and  Hegel.  I  refer  to 
the  lofty  moral  sense  which  is  manifested  at  every 
page  of  the  writings  of  Fichte.  This  morality, 
which,  as  he  developed  his  Ontology,  became  love, 
was,  with  him,  the  fundamental  i)rinciple.  IJeing 
was  not,  as  wiili  Hegel,  thought.  Hs  movement 
was  not  a  diale(;tic  process  merely,  lieing,  in  the 
practical  aj)plication  of  that  word,  was  life;  it  was 
righteousness,  it  was  love.  Hegel  thus  remains  the 
nuister  in  the  world  of  thought;  Fichte,  in  tliat  of 
life. 

In  the  examination  that  has  been  made  of  the 
philosophy  of  Fichte  I  have  rarely  paused  to  criticise 
his  methods  or  results;  nor  shall  1  now  enter  into 
any  detailed  criticism.  It  is  important,  however, 
to  recognize  in  a  general  way  the  limitations  of  his 
work.  It  must,  then,  be  stated  that  no  part  of  his 
system  is  presented  with  the  same  elaboration  and 
finish  that  we  find  in  his  first  statement.  The  state- 
ment of  1801,*  which  students  have  too  little  no- 
ticed, stands,  in  my  judgment,  next  to  this.  His 
System  of  Ethics f  is  a  noble  work.  It  opens  grand- 
ly, and  throws  new  light  on  the  psychology  which 
had  been  before  develojied.  It  is  inspiring,  from  the 
grand  conception  of  life  which  it  embodies.  When 
we  come  to  the  deduction  of  special  duties,  we  are, 
however,    often   disapi)ointed.     The    princii)le   upon 

*  Silmmtliche  Werke,  II.     tSaiiie,  IV. 


282       fichte's  science  of  knoavledge. 

which  the  duty  is  based  is  unequal  to  its  suppoi't. 
Thus  the  absolute  condemnation  of  falsehood  is  one 
of  the  most  marked  features  of  Fichte's  moral  sys- 
tem; under  no  circumstances  must  a  lie  be  uttered. 
When  Fichte  comes  to  seek  the  reason  for  this 
requirement,  he  finds  it  in  the  fact  that,  while  ration- 
ality of  life  is  the  demand  that  is  made  upon  all 
men,  rationality  is  impossible  if  men  have  a  false 
conception  of  their  surroundings.  If  we  lie,  we  give 
men  a  false  impression,  and  take  from  them  the 
possibility  of  reasonable  conduct.*  It  is  easy  to  see 
that  this  principle  would  prove  too  much.  We  as 
truly  make  it  impossil)le  for  men  to  act  with  ration- 
ality by  keeping  back  the  truth,  as  by  saying  what  is 
false;  and  yet  such  silence  is  suggested  by  Fichte  as 
a  method  of  avoiding  a  lie.  Further,  the  exercise  of 
force  takes  from  the  person  to  whom  it  is  applied 
the  power  to  act  rationally;  and  yet  Fichte  admits 
the  right  of  using  force  in  order  to  prevent  an  indi- 
vidual from  invading  the  rights  of  others. t  If  we 
may  use  force  to  protect  the  community  from  a  man 
who  is  hopelessly  irrational,  why  ma}'  we  not  use  a 
lie  to  protect  the  community  from  one  who  defies 
the  laws  of  true  living.  When  we  read  this  deduc- 
tion, we  know  that  Fichte's  reverence  for  truthful- 
ness rested  on  a  foundation  more  deep  and  more 
strong  than  this.  Other  examples  might  be  given  to 
illustrate  the  imperfection  of  the  detaiK''d  practical 
application  by  Ficlite  of  his  ethical  principles,  and  to 

*Saiiiiiitliclie  Werkc,  IV,  282,  ft  neq. 
t  Saiumtlitlie  Weike,  III,  I'JT,  ct  seq. 


COMPARISONS.  283 

show  how  the  work  which  begins  with  a  tone  as 
authoritative  and  inspiring,'  as  that  of  conscience 
itself,  loses  niucli  of  this  power  when  it  would 
enforce  the  special  practical  duties  of  life. 

The  later  philosophical  works  of  Fichte  failed  to 
satisfy  himself.  He  rewrought  his  system  time  and 
again,  with  each  presentation  claiming  that  he  had 
reached  a  perfection  of  statement  of  which  he  had 
failed  before;  each  being  thus  an  implied  criticisui 
upon  its  predecessor.  The  last,  in  which  he  makes 
this  claim  with  special  confidence,  was  broken  off 
midway  by  the  troubles  of  the  times.  In  his  more 
popular  writings  are  found,  as  it  appears  to  me,  the 
best  fruition  of  his  later  years. 

Turning  now  to  the  content  of  his  works,  we 
meet  an  antinomy  which  runs  through  his  whole 
system  like  a  discord  that  is  never  really  solved. 
This  is  the  antinomy  that  grows  out  of  the  relations 
of  the  Me  and  the  Not-me.  This  is  at  first,  as  we 
have  seen,  openly  recognized,  and  is  j)ractieally 
solved  by  reducing  the  Thing-in-itself,  which  is  the 
source  of  the  contrast,  to  a  mere  limit;  while,  later, 
the  impression  of  dualism  is  removed  by  finding 
that  this  limit  is  simply  the  boundar\'  line  that  sep- 
arates the  individual  from  the  v;niversal.  This 
limit  is  needed,  as  we  have  seen,  because  the  T, 
being  absolute  self-affirmation,  could  not  limit  itself 
by  positing,  by  its  own  spontaneous  act,  its  opposite. 
This  centre  of  personal  consciousness  is  produced  by 
the  fact  that  the  Absolute  Stream  of  Life  concentrates 
itself  into  these  eddies  of  individuality,  in  order  that 


284       fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

consciousness  may  be  attained.  The  same  question 
that  met  us  in  regard  to  the  individual  might  be 
ui'ged  in  regard  to  this  vaster  life.  How  can  this 
Absolute  Life  limit  itself,  as  this  hypothesis  supposes? 
It  is  a  real  limitation  of  itself  that  is  posited.  It 
not  only  breaks  itself  up  into  these  centres  of  con- 
sciousness, but  it  breaks  itself  up  also  in  its  mani- 
festation. It  subjects  itself  to  the  limits  of  time, 
and  presents  itself  by  piecemeal.  The  difficulty 
here,  had  it  occurred  to  Fichte,  would  have  been  as 
great  as  in  the  case  of  the  individual.  We  need 
here,  also,  a  something  the  opposite  of  the  Life, 
against  which  the  Life  may  dash  and  be  broken  into 
the  spray  of  countless  individualities.  Thus  the 
ghost  of  the  Thing-in-itself  is  not  yet  laid. 

The  fact  that  the  contradiction  between  absolute- 
ness and  finiteness  remains  unsolved  at  the  end  of 
Fichte's  discussion,  shows  that  he  had  not  found  the 
secret  that  he  sought.  The  difficulty  with  his  system 
is  that  from  first  to  last  it  is  based,  in  part,  upon  me- 
chanical conceptions.  We  have  noticed  this,  already, 
in  his  deduction  of  perception.  From  this  comes 
whatever  is  hard  and  unsatisfactory-  in  the  system 
of  Fichte.  In  this  we  find  the  explanation  of  the 
fundamental  difficulty  to  which  reference  has  just 
been  made, —  that  in  regard  to  the  fact  of  conscious- 
ness. Consciousness  is  looked  upon  as  something 
accidental,  that  must  be  explained  from  without, 
and  not  as  something  that  is  involved  in  the  very 
idea  of  being.  The  process  which  manifested  itself 
in  consciousness  was  not  seen  to  be,  in  its  absolute 


COMPARISONS.  285 

form,  one  of  self-mediation,  but  was  thought  to  be 
something  that,  in  some  mechanical  vvay,  must  be 
set  in  motion  from  without.  If  Fichte  had  seen, 
as  he  came  so  near  seeing,  that  the  spirit  is  abso- 
lute, not  merely  absolute  spirit,*  but  the  Abso- 
lute, and  that  the  process  by  which  spirit  is  spirit, 
is  its  very  being,  he  would  not  have  needed  these 
mechanical  appliances.  He  would  have  seen  that 
the  infinite  can  be  conceived  only  as  spirit,  because 
in  spirit  alone  do  we  Hud  unity  and  diversity,  each 
growing  out  of  the  other.  If  we  start  from  our 
finite  spirits,  the  idea  of  infinite  s[)irit  would  still 
be  an  ideal  to  be  eternally  approached,  and  never 
reached;  but  if  we  start  from  the  idea  of  the  infinite, 
the  infinite  spirit  must  be  recognized  as  an  eternal 
reality.  Hegel,  by  identifying  thought  and  being, 
broke  down  the  barrier  that  repressed  the  specu- 
lation of  Fichte,  and  life  took  the  place  of  mechan- 
ism. 

Another  indication  of  the  limitation  of  Fichte's 
system,  or  of  his  nature,  may  be  found  in  the  slight 
attention  that  is  given  to  a'sthetics.  The  outer 
world  being  onl}^  the  reflex  of  the  human  spirit, 
there  would  seem  to  be  little  place  for  a  philosophy 
of  beauty.  We  must  not  forget,  however,  the  im- 
portant work  done  in  this  direction  by  Kant,  whose 
system  was  no  more  favorable  to  these  results  than 
that  of  Fichte,  and  whose  circumstances  were  far 
less  so.     Fichte,  at  one  time,  hoped  to  apply  his  sys- 

*  Compare  Saniintlkho  Werke,  11,22:  Das  Wissen  ist  nicht  das 
Absolute;  abcr  cs  ist  selbst  als  Wissen  absolute. 


286        fichte's  science  of  knowledge. 

tern  to  aesthetics;  but  bis  nature  was  too  ethical  and 
active  to  feel  much  real  attraction  in  that  direction. 
He  looks  at  this  matter  as  at  all  others,  from  the 
ethical  standpoint.  Beauty,  in  his  view,  is  the  man- 
ifestation of  the  ideal  in  nature;  and  the  ideal 
belongs  to  the  inner  life  of  the  spirit.  Thus  in  the 
contemplation  of  beauty,  the  limitations  of  the  ma- 
terial and  the  sensuous  are  broken  through,  and  the 
spirit  returns  to  itself.  The  enjoyment  of  beauty  is 
thus  not  virtue  —  it  is  the  preparation  for  virtue;* 
in  which  statement  we  see,  perhaps,  the  result  of 
the  influence  of  Schiller.  The  profound  recognition 
of  the  beauty  of  nature  must  rather  come,  one 
would  think,  from  the  recognition  of  the  reality  of 
the  ideal,  as  it  is  manifested  over  against  the  spirit, 
and  is  not  merely  a  projection  from  it.  For  this, 
however,  the  philosophy  of  Fichte  could  have  no 
place.  In  another  passage  he  affirms  that  the  phys- 
ical expression  of  a  man  lost  in  the  contemplation  of 
an  idea,  is  the  only  object  of  the  art  of  the  sculptor 
and  painter  t  —  the  word.  Idea,  being  always  used  by 
Fichte  in  its  highest  sense. 

While  we  thus  recognize  the  limitations  of 
Fichte,  we  must  not  fail  to  recognize  the  greatness 
of  the  results  that  were  reached  by  him.  We  may 
say  with  Herbart,  one  of  his  keenest  critics,  that  he 
gave  to  philosophy  a  new  problem,  the  problem  of 
the   1. 1     We   may   add  that  he  gave   to   it  a  new 

♦Sittenlchre,  Siimmtlichc  Wcike,  IV,  So."). 

tDic  Griiiirtziigc,  etc.,  Sammtliche  Wcrkc,  VII,  59. 

tHerbartV  Sammtliche  Werke,  III,  260. 


COMPARISONS.  287 

method,  ih.it  of  tliesis,  antithesis,  and  synthesis;  and 
tliat  he  gave  to  it  a  new  ideal,  that  of  unity  of  prin- 
ciple and  result.  He  sou_L,'lit  to  restore  to  philos- 
ophy its  old  nieaninjT,  to  make  it  a  love  of  wisdom 
rather  than  of  mere  knowledge;  a  power  in  the  life, 
more  truly  than  a  speculation  of  the  thought.  An 
earnest  student  of  Fichte,  tliough  the  world  might 
have  a  reality  for  him  that  it  had  not  for  the  mas- 
ter, could  never,  it  would  seem,  be  lost  among  the 
sophisti'ies  of  a  superficial  materialism;  nor  could 
the  ideas  of  freedom  and  duty  ever  be  wholly  with- 
out power  over  his  heart. 


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